


My Heart Don't Beat the Way it Used To

by Raina_at



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: BroodingArtist!Jensen, Jock!Jared, M/M, highschool!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raina_at/pseuds/Raina_at
Summary: Jared and Jensen have been best friends forever, and nothing’s going to ever change that, not even senior slump, or college anxieties, or even Jared getting an annoying cheerleader girlfriend. Or so Jensen thought.





	My Heart Don't Beat the Way it Used To

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this 10 years ago and it's still probably my favourite of all the things I've written, so here you go. Thank you, Goodybemyfancy, for the beta ten years ago :-)

“Hey, Ackles!”

Somebody pulls the chair he's been using as a footrest from under his legs. His Docs hit the ground with a thud, and Jensen feels the impact in his entire body.

Jensen opens his eyes, looking up at Sanders and Welling, big and looming in their varsity jackets. “What?” he asks, raising himself up to lean on his elbows, just this side of pissed. The gym floor's comfortable, and he slept really well in the late afternoon sun streaming in through the windows, so he's got no patience with the assholes who woke him up. 

Welling grins at him, a humorless, ugly grin that looks a little too natural in his too pretty face. “The bridge you live under got torn down or something, you gotta sleep here?

Jensen sighs. “You woke me up for this shit? Jesus. I look like a bum, how original.” He reaches into his jacket pocket for his iPod. “Fuck off, Welling, and come back when you've thought of a few more intelligent insults.” He pauses a little for effect. “I guess I'll see you at graduation, then.”

There's a laugh from behind them, and Sanders and Welling turn around, cringing when they see Jared standing in the gym doorway, fully dressed, tips of his hair still wet from his shower. 

He walks over to Jensen, ignoring Welling and Sanders. “Need a ride?” he asks Jensen, holding out a hand.

Jensen takes Jared's hand and lets Jared pull him to his feet, grinning at him. “Dude, why do you think I'm hanging out here?” He picks up his backpack and stuffs his iPod back into his jacket.

Jared claps Jensen on the back and pushes him towards the exit. “Admit it, Jensen, you just wanna get my autograph and squeal to the other freshmen girls how I, like, totally looked at you during the game last night.”

Jensen laughs, thinking of game night last Friday and the two freshmen girls dressed all in pink who had the exact conversation, sitting right in front of him, unaware that every word they said would be related to Jared in colorful detail. They laughed so much that night they almost made themselves sick.

They step outside into the late October sun, towards Jared's car, a battered old Chevy they both love insanely in spite of, or actually because of, its many quirks. 

Jared throws a look over his shoulder back at the gym, smile fading. “Assholes,” he mutters.

Jensen shrugs. “Yeah, they pretty much are.” 

It doesn't bother him like it used to. Jocks will be jocks, and they leave him alone these days, mostly. He knows it's because of Jared, of course, 'cause Jared's not only the tallest member of the basketball team, and therefore pretty much the tallest person in school, but because most jocks kind of respect Jared, at least to his face. He's the best player they've got, by far, and he's won the school his fair share of games, and nobody really wants to get on his bad side, 'cause Jared's kind of insanely popular.

Not that you'd be able to tell, Jensen thinks with a grin, as Jared fiddles with the car keys, getting the door open with the special twiggle-twiggle-twist only he and Jensen know about. His hair's a mess, his faded AC/DC t-shirt is sticking out under his Varsity jacket, and the car radio blasts The Killers on full volume when he turns the keys. Yeah, Jensen thinks, Jared's still pretty much the biggest dork he knows.

“You waitin' for me to beam you into the car by the power of my insanely well-developed brain or something?” Jared asks, looking at Jensen like he's retarded, which given that Jensen's stood in front of their nearly empty school watching Jared for the last solid five minutes, might not be that far off.

Jensen flips Jared off and gets into the car at a leisurely, one could almost say sleepy, pace. “Don't get your panties in a twist, princess,” he says, slamming the car door shut and holding the glove compartment door closed with his knee so it won’t fall open and spill half of Jared’s crap like it did last week. 

“I kinda hate this car,” Jensen observes conversationally as Jared backs them out of the school parking lot, the engine almost drowning out both Jensen's and Brandon Flowers' voice.

“You totally don't,” Jared says with an amused grin, then curses as the windshield wipers go on when he signals. “I hate this car,” he mutters.

It's Jensen's turn to grin. “Nah, you don't.”

They make the turn onto the freeway, and Jared steps on the accelerator. “Yeah,” he says, smiling at Jensen. “Maybe I don't.”

*-*

Today, they hang out at Jensen's. Jared's lounging on the floor, reading their English assignment while Jensen does Jared's Chemistry homework. 

Absently, Jared picks up a dirty sock of Jensen's from the floor and flings it at Jensen's face. “Dude, your place is a mess,” Jared says, gesturing around the clothes, notes and books strewn all over the floor.

“Yeah, and what else is new,” Jensen mumbles absently, flinging the sock in the general direction of the laundry basket. 

His room's never exactly tidy, that's true, and most of the stuff lying around is splattered with paint from his newest mural. The one this month covers the entire wall behind his bed in bright orange contrasted with blues and reds. After years of fighting, his parents just kind of gave in, bought him about ten galleons of white paint, and vowed never to enter his room save a) fire, b) medical emergencies or c) if they smell alcohol or pot. It's because of rule c that they get wasted at Jared's, whose parents think Jared's perfect and can do no wrong and who buy their scented candles excuse hook, line and sinker every time.

“Like the mural, by the way,” Jared says, pointing at the wall. “Very… orange.”

“Shut up,” Jensen shoots back, but he's biting back a smile, because Jared's the only person aside from his art teacher who ever seriously comments on Jensen's art, and he's the one person whose opinion actually matters to Jensen. 

For a while, they're quiet, the only sounds Jensen's scratching pencil and Jared turning a page, the new AC/DC album blaring over the tinny speakers of Jensen's laptop.

“Here you go,” Jensen finally says, handing Jared the chemistry homework.

Jared takes it gratefully. “Thanks, man. I'll email you the English assignment tomorrow morning.”

Jensen grins. “How did we cheat before the Internet, man?”

“Good, old-fashioned hard work, Ackles, something you young ones don't know anything about,” Jared says. “Wanna go over to my place and get wasted?”

Jensen makes a show of thinking about it. “Well, okay.”

*-*

The thing about Jared and Jensen is, they... well, they just are. They've been next door neighbors since kindergarten, and they've been best friends since Billy Ryan took both their snack packs on the first day of first grade. They teamed up, kicked his ass, and well, the rest is history. 

Most people at school think they're weird. Jared's a basketball star, outgoing, friendly, everybody knows him, everybody likes him. Jensen talks to five people at school, and he likes it that way. He wears ripped jeans and dirty converse to Jared's varsity jacket, he likes to do graffiti during lunch break and Jared sometimes hangs out with the cheerleaders. Nobody gets them except their small circle of friends, and truth is, Jensen doesn't give a shit, and neither does Jared.

Because they work. Without even trying, Jared's singlehandedly responsible for people leaving Jensen pretty much alone, and Jensen doesn't resent it because Jared's hopeless at natural sciences and math, and Jensen pretty much does all of his homework. In return, Jared writes most of Jensen's history essays and Jensen hasn't read an assigned novel since seventh grade, 'cause Jared gets why Beckett's a genius when he writes about two dudes sitting around waiting for some other dude you never even see, and Jensen gets equations and shit, which is ironic given that Jensen's the artist and Jared's the strategist of their basketball team. But whatever. It works. They work. They hang out, they talk, or not, they get wasted or not, they play guitar hero for hours or watch TV, they swap band t-shirts and CDs and movies and everything, really. Jared drives Jensen to remote places when he wants to take weird photographs of random shit, and Jensen sits through every single basketball game Jared's ever played even though he hates sports and team spirit and cheerleaders and all that, but he likes watching Jared do something he loves and does well. 

So yeah, he doesn't care that nobody gets them, because they get each other, and, well, everybody else can just go screw themselves.

*-*

Jensen doesn’t look up from his laptop when Jared flops down next to him at their usual lunch table near the back of the courtyard. 

“Senior year sucks,” he mutters and promptly starts munching loudly on Jensen’s leftover salt and vinegar chips.

Jensen just grunts vague agreement, too focused on the three Photoshop windows open on his screen.

“It really, really sucks,” Jared repeats, stealing the untouched second half of Jensen’s sandwich.

“What’s wrong with your own lunch?” Jensen asks, finally looking away from his screen to gesture at Jared’s loaded tray.

Jared grins, blinding and warm. “Yours is better,” he says, and really, that grin should be illegal, it makes it impossible for Jensen to stay annoyed at Jared.

Still. Jensen flips him off on the principle of the thing, and decides to cut to the chase, ‘cause no way is Jared gonna let him work in peace before he’s unloaded whatever’s on his chest. “Why does senior year suck?”

Jared puts Jensen’s sandwich down to have his hands free to check off points on his fingers. “One: We haven’t seen Chris and Steve in weeks, meaning no booze. Two: I’ve got about seven articles to write for the school paper. Three: Coach Morgan is riding my ass harder than ever, meaning even if I didn’t have an assload of homework, plus the paper, I couldn’t enjoy drinking the booze we don’t have anyway, ‘cause I’ve got no frigging time.”

“We’ll see Chris and Steve next Saturday,” Jensen points out. “And I do, like, half your homework.”

Jared smirks. “Yeah, but I do, like, half of yours, so…”

“Good point,” Jensen concedes.

“Hey, fuckheads,” Rosenbaum greets them, dropping heavily on the bench across the table, joined a minute later by Danneel. 

“Hey, Rosey, hey, Danny,” Jared says, smiling at them both. 

Jensen gives then two of them a two-fingered salute, about to return his attention to the screen.

“Gig next Saturday, you coming, right?” Danneel asks.

“Sure,” Jared says, and when Jensen doesn’t immediately react, Danneel kicks him under the table with her heavy combat boots. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course we’re coming.” Jensen rubs his knee. “Steel caps?”

Danneel just grins at him sweetly.

Rosey flicks Jensen’s laptop screen. “Flyers?”

Jensen sighs. “Sure, man, whatever.” He double-clicks the file containing the base of the flyer he made for them last time. “What’s your name this month?”

Jared laughs. “Still Spider and The Eight-Legs?”

Danneel grimaces. “Nah, too creepy, freaked me out.”

“What’s it now? Back to The Heart Attacks?” Jared asks. 

“The JR Ewings?” Jensen throws in while changing the flyer’s background color from pink to orange. “Time and place still 8.30 at the Gap?”

Rosey nods. “Yep. As usual.”

“Pink Day? Brown 7? The Mass Murderers? Kings of the Neolithic? The Texas Rock Massacre?” Jared throws out, smiling sweetly at Danneel, who’s glaring daggers at him.

“Actually, it’s The Lone Stars, and this one’s gonna stick,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Sure. You said that about The Pink Panthers, The Snotty Rockers and Siblings From Mars, and all of them lasted about a week,” Jensen mutters, putting in the new band name in the scraggly, punky font he chose for each of their many, many band logos. “Okay, done.”

Rosey hands over his USB stick, and Jensen transfers the ready for print file. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, dude.” Rosey pockets the stick and takes off with a short, “See you, fuckers.”

“I kinda liked Siblings from Mars,” Jared says, unpacking his sandwich to start on his own lunch, having finished the remains of Jensen’s.

Danneel shrugs. “So did I, but Steve thought it was lame, and Chris is totally Steve’s bitch, and Rosey doesn’t give a shit either way, so I was overruled.”

A group of cheerleaders pass their table, nodding at Jared and ignoring Jensen and Danneel as usual, except one girl, a tiny brunette Jensen doesn’t recognize, who smiles at Danneel and says, “Hi.”

Danneel smiles back. “Hi, Sandy.”

“New girl?” Jared asks, and something in his tone makes Jensen look up from his screen again. 

Jared and Danneel are watching the cheerleaders walk away to their usual table, that girl Sandy following, looking a bit lost.

“Transferred in last week. She’s my biology lab partner. Nice girl,” Danneel says, turning back to Jared and Jensen.

“Must suck transferring in your senior year,” Jared mutters, like he’s actually interested, still watching Sandy as she sits down with the other cheerleaders.

Jensen takes a good look at her. She’s pretty in a way that does nothing for him, petite and soft and curvy, and she has this healthy, wholesome, perfect school spirit cheerleader material look about her. “Robot,” he announces, then turns his attention back to the screen.

“She’s not so bad,” Danneel says, shrugging.

“Please,” Jensen says, gesturing vaguely at the cheerleader table, from where the sounds of girly giggles waft over, “she’s here a week and already a cheerleader? Robot.”

“They’re not all bad, you know,” Jared says, smiling indulgently at Jensen. 

Jensen rolls his eyes. “You’re way too nice, man.”

It’s too true a fact for contradiction, so Danneel changes the subject to the awesome new song material they’re gonna do live for the first time on Saturday, and Jensen kind of zones out, trying to get back to working on the pictures of this run-down old house he took last week, but he keeps glancing up at Jared, who doesn’t seem to be listening to Danneel either, but is watching the cheerleader table with what Jensen thinks is entirely unwarranted attention.

*-*

Jared’s late. Which in and of itself isn’t that unusual, because sometimes practice runs later or Jared gets held up shooting the shit with the guys on his team who aren’t assholes, and it’s not like Jensen minds or anything. He’s lounging in the parking lot on the Chevy’s hood, laptop open and his earplugs blasting the new Snow Patrol. He’s trying to fit a few of his photographs into a collage for a project his art teacher thinks would look good in his art school application portfolio.

He’s slowly working through the Master List of art schools he and Jared picked out for the proximity of basketball-scholarship heavy colleges nearby, and he’s trying to include at least one piece or project that reflects the character of the school he’s applying to. The one he’s working on now is dark and melancholy, the kind of deep, thinky shit the more serious, artier schools go nuts for. He’s gonna print it out and go over it with dark gray and black water colors, to give it an extra gloomy feel. 

He’s working away, nodding his head to the rhythm of the music, occasionally glancing at the gym door. 

It’s about half an hour later than Jared usually finishes practice when Jensen glances up from his collage in grays and browns to see Jared standing at the gym door, talking animatedly to that girl Sandy. She’s smiling up at him and playing with her hair, and Jared’s gesticulating a lot, which means he’s nervous. 

For some reason, Jensen has an urge to go over there and interrupt them. But he stays put, knowing that’s childish. He takes out his earplugs, though, and saves his work before shutting down his laptop. It’d be nice if they got home before it’s actually dark, after all.

He can’t really hear what Jared and Sandy are saying, they’re too far away, but it doesn’t seem like they’re gonna stop any time soon, so Jensen clears his throat loudly. 

Jared starts violently, and Jensen almost falls off the Chevy’s hood, laughing his ass off, which of course makes Jared laugh as well. 

“Sorry, man,” Jared says, gesturing between himself and Sandy, still smiling with amusement. “I got distracted.”

Sandy smiles at Jared warmly and blushes a little, and Jared smiles back at her and says, “See you around,” in this soft, kind of wimpy voice.

Sandy brushes against Jared’s arm as she walks away, and Jared watches her leave with an absent expression on his face.

And okay, that’s it; Jensen’s had it with being patient. He throws his jacket at Jared’s face, who starts and catches it just before it hits the ground. 

“Can we maybe go now before it gets dark and my parents start thinking I’ve been eaten by wolves?” Jensen asks, his tone maybe a bit sharper than strictly necessary.

Jared nods, still looking after Sandy. Then he smiles at Jensen, the kind of smile usually reserved for really, really good stuff that happened, like the Spurs winning the play-offs or awesome SATs or really good pot. “Yeah,” he says, “let’s go.”

Jensen rolls his eyes so hard his head hurts. “Whatever, man, drive already.” 

But there’s an uncomfortable feeling somewhere in his guts, and when Jared sings at the top of his lungs to some cheesy lovey-dovey Snow Patrol song, Jensen glares daggers at him. 

He hates fucking Snow Patrol.

*-*

Next day during lunch, Jensen and Danneel are busy discussing Jensen’s graffiti designs for her bass guitar when a sweet, quiet voice interrupts them. 

“Can I sit here?”

Jensen turns around, sharp retort on his lips that dies when he sees it’s Sandy, looking thoroughly intimidated, holding her lunch tray like it’s a body shield. 

“What?” he asks, sure he must have heard her wrong. 

“Is it ok if I sit here?” she asks again, voice less hesitant now. 

“Why?” Jensen asks, gesturing at the cheerleader table. “I thought the clone army table’s over there.”

To his surprise, she actually laughs. “Yeah, it is, but Jared kind of invited me to lunch, and he’s not around yet, so I was wondering…” she trails off, looking at Jensen, then at Danneel. 

Jensen hesitates, because Jared invited her so technically he guesses it’s ok, but a) he doesn’t want to create some kind of precedent, letting one of _them_ sit here, and b) he doesn’t actually like this girl, like, at all. She’s a robot, but clearly, he’s the only one who can see that. 

“For god’s sake, Jensen, don’t be an asshole,” Danneel finally bursts out, moving her backpack from the seat next to her. “Sit down, Sandy,” she says in a friendly, welcoming tone Jensen’s never heard from her before. 

Sandy smiles gratefully at her while Jensen glares daggers at her, wondering what the hell happened, because Danneel’s normally even pricklier than Jensen, and no cheerleader has ever sat with them, Jared or no Jared. It’s just not done. The robots stay on one side, Jensen and his crowd stay on the other. The only one who regularly crosses over is Jared, because he always eats lunch with Jensen, Danneel and Rosenbaum, but he sometimes talks to the jocks who aren’t dicks. But that’s Jared, and he’s… well, he’s kind of special. Nobody else should be allowed to just sit down at their table if they want to, and then cross back over and be a cheerleader again. 

The girls start talking, about their biology assignment, and how Sandy’s settling in, and all that, and Jensen pulls out his laptop, deciding he won’t be a part of this conversation. Passive resistance, that’s the motto.

A pleasant weight settles beside him, and Jared grins at him. “Hey, broody, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Danneel grins faux-sweetly at Jensen. “Nothing. He’s just being a dick,” she says, with a significant glance at Sandy.

Jared smiles at Sandy and throws an arm around Jensen’s shoulders, pulling him into a headlock. “Don’t mind Jensen, Sandy, he’s not really an asshole, he’s just shy,” he says, ruffling through Jensen’s hair in a gesture that’s all affection, and Jensen has to smile in spite of himself, even though he tries to hide it, his cheek pressed against Jared’s chest, Jared’s heart beating under his ear. He can smell sweat and Jared’s deodorant and the detergent Jared’s mother uses, and Jensen feels warm all over.

“Fucker,” Jensen mutters, and Jared grins at Sandy and Danneel. 

“That means he loves me,” he says, releasing Jensen’s head.

Jensen straightens up and occupies himself with straightening his hair and his clothes, perversely wishing Jared hadn’t let go of him quite so soon. 

He doesn’t listen to what Jared, Danneel and Sandy talk about, because his cheeks are burning and there seems to be something wrong with his breath, so he just grabs his laptop, makes some vague noises about work, and goes to sit under the stands on the football pitch until the heat in his cheeks has faded and his fingers have stopped tingling.

He sits under there for a long time, and somehow he’s glad he’s hitching a ride with Danneel today.

*-*

“Fuck it to hell and back!” Jensen curses under his breath. He’s been staring at the same spot on the wall for ten solid minutes. He’s printed out his collage in pieces and is trying to rearrange it on the background he painted, using pins and a large cork board he has in his room for exactly this purpose. And try as he may, he can’t rearrange the fucking thing so it doesn’t look stupid and cheap and pasted. 

It’s Saturday, so he has the whole day to sit over this fucking thing. He’s really looking forward to the concert tonight, he’s got the feeling he’s gonna have some frustration to yell out of his system.

There’s a noise like a small buffalo stampede’s running up or down the stairs, and he’s just thinking about sticking his head out the door and yell at his little sister to keep the fucking noise down, but then his door opens and Jared walks in, without knocking or anything, as usual, flopping down on Jensen’s unmade bed without ceremony, as usual.

“I’m bored. Entertain me!” Jared intones, looking at the ceiling with a put-upon expression.

Jensen rolls his eyes, but he knows he’s smiling too widely to pull off the annoyed act. “What are you, five? Entertain yourself; I’ve got work to do.” He gestures at the collage.

Jared looks over and immediately gets up from the bed with an appreciative whistle. “Wow. It’s great.” 

Jensen waves him off. “No, it really sucks.”

Jared steps next to Jensen and surveys the board with interest, eyes narrowed. “Maybe it’s not entirely perfect yet, but what’s there already is amazing, Jensen.” He leans closer to survey some of the details, the raven on the windowsill Jensen’s drawn into the photograph, the details of the curtains Jensen enhanced with Photoshop. 

“Yeah, but something’s missing, don’t you think?” Jensen asks, looking at the piece critically. The photograph of the derelict house he used as a base is in the center, superimposed with blow-ups of parts of the house, roof shingles, cracked windows, red bricks sticking out from under cracked plaster, like scars. Jensen gave the blow-ups a slightly concave look, as if the viewer was looking through a magnifying glass. All of it is black and white, tinted with the slightest sepia touch. And Jensen realizes Jared’s right, what’s there already is good, it’s just that the painted backdrop sucks.

“You know,” Jared muses, taking a step back to get an impression of the collage as a whole, “when we drove to Aunt Liz last week, we drove by this field with these two dead trees, they were all black, like they’d been hit by lightning? I think they’d make a great addition to the look of the backdrop landscape.”

Jensen tilts his head to the side and looks at the piece. “Can I borrow the car?”

Jared gives him a warm smile. “I’ll drive you.”

*-*

Jared’s right, the trees are great, gloomy and creepy and awesome. Plus, the field looks like it hasn’t been mowed in about a decade, so all in all, it’s perfect. He takes out his analogue Nikon and his digital Canon and starts taking pictures from all angles, thankful that it’s an overcast day. Mist is too much to ask in Texas even in October, but at least the sun’s not glaring down to ruin the mood.

Jensen’s not sure how long he works. As ever when he’s painting or spraying or taking pictures, he’s completely absorbed by what he does, in his own world. He’s distantly aware of Jared watching him, Jared’s eyes on him a pleasant, familiar tingling sensation. When he occasionally glances at Jared, he’s stretched out under a nearby tree, reading up for their history project, or eating a sandwich while reading, letting Jensen do his thing, as he’s done so often before, and Jensen’s as grateful for his quiet company as he is for the ride out here. 

Dusk is slowly setting in when he’s done. Jared’s eaten through the ample supply of sandwiches Jensen scrounged from his mom (‘cause if Jensen knows one thing, it’s that in one respect Jared’s like a toddler, you’ve got to feed him regularly or he gets super cranky), and apparently he’s finished the history book, because it’s lying by his side. He’s got his earplugs in and he’s very obviously fast asleep, limbs sprawled at all angles, hair flopping into his face, mouth slightly open.

Quietly, grinning wickedly, Jensen pulls out the Canon again. He takes a few steps back and focuses the lens to get the perfect angle. He’ll post this on the school message board, or at least on his blog, he thinks, with a classy caption, like, ‘School Hero Trains Hard for Championship’ or something comparably lame. 

He takes a few pictures form a far angle, but when he looks at them on his display, they’re not funny at all, because Jared looks vulnerable and really young, somehow exposed yet very serene. Without thinking what he’s doing, Jensen takes a few steps closer, gets down on his knees and takes another picture, and another, and another. He moves around Jared on quiet feet, stealthy, taking picture after picture, trying to capture the angle of Jared’s head, the way his hair just brushes his skin, the serene look on his face, the way the shadows of the tree fall across him, the shape of his body against the grass. And all the while his heart is beating wildly and he’s feeling slightly embarrassed and stupid, and all the while he’s thinking, _Don’t wake up, please don’t wake up, don’t move, hold still, just for a moment longer…_

Finally, he pauses, crouching on one knee, camera resting against his thigh. There’s a buzz, obviously from Jared’s cell resting in his jacket pocket. Jared opens his eyes, and Jensen stupidly freezes, insides seizing up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, like he’s invaded Jared’s privacy somehow. But Jared just smiles, this drowsy, fuzzy, warm smile, and says, quietly, voice rough from sleep, “Got a stupid one you can show to all our friends on Monday?”

Jensen shakes his head, suddenly glad that the semi-twilight under the tree is somewhat obscuring the fact that he can feel his face go hot. “Not really,” he says, his voice not entirely steady. He clears his throat. “Got plenty of really ugly ones, though.” This time, he nearly succeeds sounding nonchalantly, casually insulting and less embarrassed and guilty.

Fortunately, Jared’s not really paying attention, he’s flipping Jensen off with one hand, other hand holding his cell up so he can read the text that woke him, smiling at the phone.

Jensen puts down the camera and sits down cross-legged next to Jared on the slightly damp grass, shins brushing the side of Jared’s arm. “What?” he asks, nudging Jared with the tip of his Docs. 

Jared grins at Jensen. “I asked Sandy whether she wanted to come to the gig tonight, and she said yes.”

“Yay,” Jensen deadpans, and Jared sticks out his tongue.

“What’s the poor girl ever done to you?” Jared asks, nudging Jensen’s knee with his shoulder.

Jensen shrugs. “She’s a cheerleader and a robot, she offends by existing.”

Jared snorts. “I’m on the basketball team, does that make me a robot? Do I offend by existing, too?”

“You’re different,” Jensen mutters, looking down at Jared watching him with a small smile.

“Why?” Jared asks, quietly, in a tone that scrapes down Jensen’s skin like honey.

“You just are,” Jensen says with a shrug. He can’t look away from Jared’s eyes, the expression in them, fond and amused, making his skin prickle and his guts cramp with a tight feeling he can only describe as a kind of fierce protectiveness at odds with the casual teasing of the question. He just knows that nobody’s quite like Jared, and nobody’s less of a robot than Jared, but he can’t really say any of that, it’s stupid and girly. He just has to say something casual and insulting, because he feels serious and heavy, and he doesn’t really know why. “It’s because you’re so ugly, you know? Jocks are supposed to be, like, these hunks, and you’re, you know, not even half decent looking, so you don’t qualify.” He’s aware his voice lacks something, condescension or maybe just conviction, but Jared laughs anyway.

“Come on,” he says, “give the girl a chance. Talk to her. I’m sure you’ll see she’s not that bad.”

Jensen just gives a noncommittal grunt. He really doesn’t want to talk about Sandy anymore, doesn’t even wanna give her one second’s thought anymore.

But Jared looks at him with exaggerated big puppy eyes. “Pleeeeease?`” he whines. “For me?”

Jensen laughs, even though he doesn’t really feel like it. “All right, Pluto,” he says, ruffling through Jared’s hair.

Jared immediately jumps up and does his best ‘happy doggy’ impression, running Jensen over on all fours and seriously threatening to lick his face. Jensen laughs and holds up his arms to keep Jared away from his face, which isn’t that easy given Jared’s got about 20 pounds and five inches on him. 

“Off, Pluto, off! Down! I’ll have you neutered!” Jensen yells, fending Jared off, laughing when Jared immediately jumps off him at the last threat.

Jensen sits up, out of breath, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Jared’s on his knees, pushing his hand through his hair, grinning broadly. “Dude, way out of line,” he says.

“You asked for it,” Jensen mutters, shooting Jared a dirty look.

Jared just sticks out his tongue.

It’s the moment Jensen’s been waiting for. He’s got his camera out and snaps a picture of Jared in one second flat. “Gotcha,” Jensen yells triumphantly, looking through the lens at Jared.

Jared just smirks at him. “That’s gotta be one for the scrapbooks.”

Jensen puts the camera down. “Maybe,” he says. _Definitely,_ he thinks. 

*-*

The Gap, as usual, stinks of beer and cigarettes. The walls are covered in graffiti, the toilets offer a comfortable home to several thousand families of bacteria, the bar stools are sticky with substances Jensen doesn’t even want to guess at, and the bartender’s a dirty, greasy-haired, rude biker with tattooed arms and leather studs all over his clothes.

Jensen loves the place for three reasons. First, Jimmy – aforementioned bartender – knows them and casually and at regular intervals leaves two beers for them to take when he’s not looking. Second, nobody gives a shit that Jensen draws on the walls. Third, it’s loud and raunchy and not only does nobody care when things get a bit rowdy, it’s almost expected.

It’s, in short, exactly the place he expects a girl like Sandy to hate. And she does look slightly skeptical for about five minutes, then she gives Jimmy the bartender a sunny smile and Jensen blinks as hard-ass Jimmy turns into a cuddly teddy bear. In no time, he’s making Sandy some kind of fruity cocktail – the kind that’d get anyone ordering it grunted, if not outright sworn at – and Sandy’s sliding into the booth next to Jared, happily sipping her Pina Colada or whatever. “Nice guy,” she says, nodding in Jimmy’s direction.

Jared laughs. “I can’t believe he wiped off that glass for you,” he says, fist curled loosely around his beer bottle. “Normally he just takes them out of the sink, and I think that’s actually the place where E Coli bacteria go to die.”

Sandy laughs, her shiny hair flying every which way when she shivers in mock disgust. 

Jensen takes a sip of his own beer and tries not to pay attention to the way Sandy sits all close to Jared, the jeans and band t-shirt she’s wearing like she’s entirely comfortable in them, her stylish cowboy boots dragging casually over the glass-littered floor. 

He hates that she’s comfortable. He expected her, damn it, he wanted her to prove him right and hate every second spent in this ugly shithole of a place, he thought she’d be too disgusted to sit down, but she’s leaning back against the graffiti-covered wall and looking at Jared with genuine interest when he talks about their friends’ band. 

Shit, he thinks. Now he’s got to, like, talk to her or something. Maybe. 

But not just now. He fishes the black, orange and green magic markers out of his jeans pocket and starts ‘decorating’ the wall next to their booth with the band logo he designed and their new name in big letters matching the font on the flyer. 

“Wow, you’re really talented,” Sandy says after a while. He turns slightly to see her watching him draw. 

“That’s nothing,” Jared says, “look over there.” He points at the huge graffiti Jensen did on the wall next to the bathroom.

“Wow,” Sandy breathes. 

Jensen smiles to himself. Admittedly, the thing’s a masterpiece; it’s a highly stylized Last Supper spread featuring characters from a dozen sources.

“Is the one between Kermit and Woodstock supposed to be the thing Han shoots in the Cantina at the beginning of Star Wars?” Sandy asks.

“Greedo. Yeah,” Jensen says, grudgingly respectful.

Jared grins. “I think you earned some geek points,” he says, looking at Sandy with this kind of soft, dreamy expression that makes Jensen want to puke. 

Sandy smiles at Jared, bright and warm. She’s got dimples, Jensen notices. Like Jared. _They’re gonna have a lot of cute, dimpled babies._ The thought comes to Jensen’s mind unbidden. He kind of wants to smash something.

Fortunately, he can take out his aggressions on the wall. The band logo is bold and scraggly and he lays a lot of energy into the lines that spell out the new band name.

“The Lone Stars,” Sandy reads. “Isn’t Danneel originally from New Jersey?”

“Yeah, but it’s not even worth asking, ‘cause chances are they’re not gonna be called that for long. They change their band name every twenty seconds,” Jared says, and Jensen can tell without looking at him that he’s smiling fondly. “Which was your favorite, Jensen? Mine was ‘The Dead Animals’.”

Jensen grins in spite of himself. “Yeah, that was a good one. I liked CSMD, personally,” he says, pulling the cap off the orange magic marker to color in the black outline. 

“All their initials,” Jared explains to Sandy. “Sounded like a government agency.”

“Or an STD,” Jensen adds.

Both Jared and Sandy laugh, and Jensen wishes he’d stayed quiet. He’s slowly and surely realizing what’s going on here, and he wishes he could find a good excuse to split. Clearly, this is a sort of pre-date thing, and Jensen can think of very few things he’d find less pleasant than watching the awkward first stages of teenage romance. He’d rather shoot himself in the knee. Or visit his gin-guzzling, chain-smoking, deaf aunt Ginny. Or do his English homework. Or listen to Katy Perry.

Maybe he could fake a migraine. Or a family emergency. Or maybe he should just take off. He sneaks a glance at Jared and Sandy, deeply immersed in conversation. He doubts they’d notice. Why Jared had to bring her along tonight is beyond Jensen, really. He could’ve taken her out any night when Jensen’s not sitting at their table feeling slightly stupid. 

But when Sandy goes to the bathroom, Jared turns to him, expectant look on his face, and Jensen understands. This is a test run. “Well?” Jared says.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “I guess she’s kinda ok.”

Jared snorts, but he’s smiling. “Don’t sprain anything.” His smile fades, and he suddenly looks nervous and very young, gazing down at his hands gripping the beer bottle. “I wanna ask her out,” he says quietly, and Jensen’s gut cramps.

“I figured,” Jensen mutters, abandoning the mural to slide back down into his seat opposite Jared. 

“You think she’d say yes?” Jared asks, looking up at Jensen, insecurity clearly visible in every line of his body.

Jensen can think of a million answers to this question, all coming down to, _If she says no she’s an even bigger idiot than I thought she’d be._ What he really wants to say, though, runs more along the lines of, _Why would you bother?_. But Jared’s looking at him, obviously in need of reassurance, and Jensen swallows down the flippant question whether internet porn isn’t enough anymore. “I’m sure she would. I think she really likes you.” It’s easier to say than he thought, and more gratifying, because Jared smiles at him gratefully, looking that much more confident. Jensen, on the other hand, feels like he’s eaten Jimmy’s tuna melt (a mistake nobody makes twice). 

Fortunately, Sandy’s comeback from the toilet and Jimmy coming to the stage to announce The Lone Stars save Jensen from having to continue the conversation. They join the crowd moving onto the tiny ‘dance floor’ in front of the stage. Jensen watches Jared take Sandy’s hand to pull her further to the front, and decides he’s seen enough.

The lights on the tiny stage go on, Mike counts the band in, Chris starts to sing, and Jensen lets the crowd separate him from Jared and Sandy. When he’s sure nobody’s gonna miss him or notice his absence for a while, he ducks out of the bar into the cool Texas air and starts walking home, trying and failing not to think about Jared and Sandy holding hands and the ugly lump in his stomach.

*-*

AC/DC is blaring into Jensen’s ears, and he sings along. He moves the brush in aggressive zigzags in time with the music, ignoring the buzzing of his cell phone in the back pocket of his jeans.   
He guesses it’s gotta be the 19th text Jared’s sent him since last night. The first ones were all ‘Where are you’ and ‘?????’, the ones this morning consisted mainly of ‘pick up your phone’ combined with a number of swearwords.

The thing is, Jensen knows he’s being a crappy friend, but he doesn’t want to hear about Jared asking Sandy out and how she said yes and that they’re gonna date now, that Jared’s gonna have a fucking _girlfriend_ now who’s gonna mess up everything. Girlfriends always do. The band nearly broke up because Steve’s girlfriend decided she had to be their roadie but sucked at it, and Jensen’s not even gonna start on the whole Yoko thing. He just knows she’s gonna stick her nose in things that don’t concern her, she’s gonna sit with them during lunch, she’ll just generally be a pain in the ass. 

Jensen nearly stabs the wall with his brush, the paint splattering all over his room. He just doesn’t get what Jared needs a girlfriend for, all of a sudden. He’s never shown much interest in girls before, except Danneel, and Jensen loves Danny and all, but she’s not exactly what you’d call girlfriend material. She punches harder than Rosenbaum, for one, and two, Jensen’s pretty sure she swings the other way anyway. 

He grabs the tube marked ‘Electric Blue’ and mixes it together with the red. Once he’s satisfied with the shade of purple he mixed, he starts painting, abstract forms and shapes, letting the brush go where it will, just painting for the sake of getting his emotions out, glad that his family’s learned to leave him alone when he’s in this kind of mood.

A weird clicking sound coming from his right makes Jensen look away from the stretch of wall he’s painting on. He takes the earplugs out to identify the source of the sound, but he can’t hear anything.

There. Again. It sounds a little like something hitting glass.

He turns to the window, and sure enough, the sound repeats itself, and Jensen can see it comes from a small pebble thrown at his window.

He goes to the window and opens it. “What is this, the fifties?” Jensen calls down to Jared, who’s standing on the Ackles front lawn, head tilted back to look at Jensen’s window.

“Well, I tried calling, but you’re not picking up,” Jared says, holding up his cell. “You’ve been painting,” he adds, stating the obvious, gesturing at Jensen’s paint-smeared t-shirt. “New mural?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. 

Jared looks at him appraisingly, a little frown line between his brows, clearly worried. “You pissed at me or something? You just took off yesterday.”

Jensen sighs, leaning his forehead against the window frame. He’s not really angry at Jared, but he really doesn’t want to talk right now, not about Sandy and dating or why he took off last night. “No, I’m not pissed, I just…” Truth is, he felt like the odd one out, and it wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience. 

Jared grimaces. “Yeah, I know. It was awkward, I get it. But,” he grins at Jensen, “she agreed to go out with me.”

“That’s great,” Jensen says without much conviction.

Jared’s smile fades somewhat. “Come on, be happy for me. I got myself a girlfriend.”

“Yippee,” Jensen says, miming waving a tiny flag. 

“Nothing’s gonna change, you know,” Jared says, so quietly Jensen has to lean out of the window to catch what he’s saying.

Jensen swallows, wondering for a moment if Jared really believes it, or if he’s just saying it to make Jensen feel better. He smiles a tiny smile. “Yeah. I know.” 

It’s the first lie he’s ever told Jared. He’s got a feeling it won’t be the last.

*-*

Monday lunchtime Sandy sits with them. Jensen’s doing both his and Jared’s calc assignments and listens with half an ear as she rants about Katy Perry. 

“I hear that song one more time, I’m gonna barf. I mean, seriously, does she think she’s being funny, or naughty? I could smash her face in, she annoys me so much,” Sandy says, repeating almost verbatim what Jensen said not under a week ago at this very table.

“You and Jensen should get together sometime and throw darts at her picture, might be cleansing,” Jared says, grinning at both of them, like the two of them agreeing on something is this wonderful thing, instead of sheer coincidence. 

Danneel catches Jensen glaring at Sandy, and throws him a sly look. “And exactly where did you disappear to Saturday?”

Jensen shrugs. “Mind your own fucking business, nosy.”

Danneel sticks her tongue out, then turns to Sandy. “Once Jensen started telling me to go fuck myself, I knew he really loved me,” she says.

Everybody laughs except Jensen, who decides to take his math to his favorite spot under the stalls to finish. Surprisingly enough, Jared comes jogging after him after a quick goodbye to Sandy.

“You wanna hang around after practice today and catch a ride? I got awesome weed from Chris on Saturday,” Jared says, slinging an arm around Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen grins. “Sure, man, if you’re not too busy playing footsie with your g-friend.”

Jared smiles at him, and Jensen feels it down to his toes. “Never too busy for you,” he says.

Jensen makes a barfing sound. “Dude, cheese alarm,” he says, but he doesn’t shake off Jared’s arm around his shoulder, and he doesn’t even really try to hide his smile.

*-*

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to set a new record for slowest dresser ever, or something?” Jensen yells in the general direction of the Padalecki’s upstairs bathroom. 

Jared vanished in there fifteen minutes ago with a white shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans, and he hasn’t been seen since. Jensen’s lying on Jared’s bed, just finishing his seventh course on Mario Kart. He’s supposed to be here as moral support before Jared’s first date with Sandy, but so far he’s only succeeded making Jared more nervous by talking him out of the classic double skull Metallica t-shirt. Jensen loves this shirt, but it’s not really date material.

Jared finally emerges from the bathroom. “I get that it takes just a few seconds to dress when you’re as ugly and tiny as you are ‘cause nothing you could wear is gonna make you look any better, but a tall, handsome, dashing dude like me needs to take his time to show himself off to the best advantage.” He’s toweling at his hair as he speaks, flopping down on the bed right between Jensen and the TV, making Jensen run off a curve. 

“Now you made me die, fucker,” Jensen curses, pushing at Jared to get out of the way.

“You’re supposed to help me, not play stupid games,” Jared complains, purposely sitting between Jensen and the screen.

Jensen sighs heavily and presses pause. “What?”

Jared stands up and gestures at his body. “The outfit?” 

Jensen eyes it critically. Technically, it’s fine, but… “Boring,” Jensen declares.

“What else am I gonna wear?” Jared asks, a slightly pathetic whine creeping into his voice.

“Dude, how the hell should I know? I hardly know this girl, remember?” Jensen can’t quite keep the annoyance out of his tone.

“You’ve had lunch with her all week,” Jared points out, walking to his closet. He starts to dig around in stacks of clothes, throwing a few choices in Jensen’s general direction.

“No, you had lunch with her all week, I just happened to sit at the same table watching you two make puppy dog eyes at each other. It was disgusting.” God, was it ever disgusting. Sandy might not exactly be a robot, but she’s really, really boring. “Admit it; you’re just dating her for the tits.” Which, in Jensen’s humble opinion, aren’t that great, either.

“Hey,” Jared says, turning around to face him. “She’s smart, and fun, and we’ve got a lot in common. Of course the tits don’t hurt,” he adds as an afterthought.

Jensen doesn’t want to get into a discussion on Sandy’s merits, so he sifts through the t-shirts Jared’s thrown on the bed. Half of them are Jensen’s. He pushes his t-shirts aside to save them from permanent quarantine by having been in the same room with Jared and Sandy’s date, handing Jared a green one with the clover leaf Jared got on St. Patrick’s Day. “This one,” he says, handing it to Jared. “It makes your eyes pop,” he adds in his best Barney Stinson impression. 

Jared flips him off, but dutifully takes off the white shirt, and pulls the green one on. Jensen’s eyes trail over Jared’s skin for a moment, sun-tanned and perfect, lean muscle, small trail of hair leading from his navel, vanishing down the front of his jeans. Jensen looks away quickly, refocuses on the screen and his paused game.

“Better?” Jared asks, and Jensen nods, not really looking. 

Jared checks his watch and gives Jensen a nervous grin. “Here goes nothing. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Jensen says, giving Jared the thumbs up and an encouraging smile, even though he’s not feeling it at all.

Jared gives him a last, blinding smile, then gallops down the stairs. 

Jensen doesn’t wait for the door to open and close, he doesn’t go downstairs for awkward, ‘how fast you boys grow up’ small talk with Jared’s parents, he turns the Wii off and climbs down the rose-covered lattice, deliberately not looking towards the front of the house until he hears the Chevy’s distinctive growl telling him Jared’s gone, then he slowly walks towards his own house, torn between feeling nervous for Jared and feeling so nostalgic it’s almost depression. 

Once he’s home, he close the door to his room and takes out his laptop to work on his collage, meaning to insert the photos he took last Saturday, but he lingers over the pictures of Jared, and goes to bed feeling like overnight his skin shrunk down to a few sizes too small. 

*-*

Jensen’s got fifth period free on Mondays, and he usually uses the time to catch up on homework or develop some photos, but today he’s sitting on the stalls with Danneel. They’re catching some weak early November sun while quizzing each other on Spanish verbs.

Some of the cheerleaders are using the free period and the nice weather to practice on the football field. Their laughs and shouts and commands compete with the music blaring from the stoner corner. Green Day. How original.

Jensen tips his head back, enjoying the sun on his face. “I think that last one was wrong,” he says, referring to Danneel’s third person past perfect of ‘volvere’.

“ _You’re_ …wrong,” Danneel mutters, digging around in her bag for her book. 

“That’s the crappiest comeback I’ve ever heard from you.” Jensen smirks up at her.

“You want my steel caps in your soft parts?” Danneel asks, glaring at him, turning the pages of her book with a lot more force than necessary.

“Jensen! Danneel!” A voice calls from the football pitch.

Jensen lifts his head from the bench to look up. Sandy’s waving at them with a big smile. 

“Oh my god, it’s waving at us,” Jensen mutters. He lifts his hand vaguely in a return greeting.

“How was the super date, anyway?” Danneel asks, smiling and nodding a greeting at Sandy.

Jensen shrugs. “Must’ve been ok.” Truth is, he got a text from Jared at one am on Saturday, reading, _Most awkward night of my life. Awesome though._ And Jared was kind of distracted when they drove to school this morning, but that’s all the info he’s got. And honestly, he’s glad.  
“Well, as ok as it could’ve been dating a robot,” Jensen adds, nodding in Sandy’s general direction.

“Watch out, Jensen, you’re doing it again,” Danneel says.

“Doing what again?” Jensen asks, confused.

Danneel smirks at him, this annoyingly superior, condescending, knowing smirk. “Being a jealous, possessive bitch.”

Jensen snorts. “Am not.” But there’s an uncomfortable flush rising from his neck.

Danneel scoffs. “Please. I know you. Every time somebody tries to get close to Jared, you turn into a complete dick. Remember freshman year, that kid Chad Murray who ran after Jared like a puppy, wanting to be his friend? What was it you told him again?”

Jensen grins. “I told him Jared was a manic depressive with a violent streak.” He exactly remembers the look on the guy’s face when Jensen showed him Jared’s so-called ‘meds’ he needed to take every hour. “Still can’t believe he fell for the Tic-Tac anti-depressants. Idiot.”

Danneel smiles, obviously in spite of herself. “Ok, yeah, that was pretty funny. But,” she turns serious again, “what’re you gonna tell Sandy? That Jared’s got some weird STD?”

“No, of course not,” Jensen says, squirming uncomfortably, because honestly, he considered it. For about five seconds. “It’s tempting, though.”

“You can’t act like this, Jensen. Not anymore,” Danneel says, heaving a sigh. “We’re too old, and sooner or later Jared’s gonna notice that you treat his girlfriend like she’s something disgusting sticking to your shoe. He’s cutting you slack because he loves you and he’s incapable of seeing what a misanthropic asshole you can be, he thinks you’ve just got to get used to her or something. But he’s bound to notice sooner or later, so I suggest you get on the girlfriend train, whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, Jensen’s silent, too many conflicting emotions warring for superiority. He’s kind of pissed at Danneel, but he knows she’s got a point, and he’s fighting the warm glow in his stomach that didn’t hear any of Danneel’s words except _he loves you_. 

He watches Sandy and a few of her clone friends practice steps for a stupid-looking dance routine, wind mussing her hair, a smile on her face. “But she’s a robot,” he says, stubbornly.

Danneel sighs. “Yeah, kinda, but that’s not the point. Jared likes her. He really likes her. You know how much it’d mean to him if you got along with her. And I know you want Jared to be happy. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Jensen mutters, and it’s true. There are few things in life Jensen likes more than Jared’s smile when he’s happy. “I’ll try,” he says, looking up at Danneel. It’s the best he can do, really.

Danneel smiles at him. “Good.” A short silence falls, then she yells, so loud Jensen almost falls from the bench he’s reclining on, “Ha! I knew it!” She holds up her Spanish book, showing him that she was right and he was wrong. “In your face, Ackles. In your stupid, ugly face.”

Jensen flips her off absently, turning his head back to watch Sandy. She catches his eyes and gives him a smile. 

_No time like the present,_ Jensen thinks. He feels his face muscles stretch as he tries to smile back. It can’t be very convincing, but Sandy looks heartened, all the same. 

_Great,_ he thinks, _Encourage her. Just what I always wanted._

But there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Jared, and if swallowing down the instant gag reflex Sandy produces is gonna make Jared happy, then Jensen’s gonna do it or die trying. 

But that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

*-*

As it turns out, Jared was half right. Nothing really changes, now Jared’s ‘with girl’. And yet.

Their routine doesn’t really change. Jensen drives to school with Jared every morning, and back Monday and Thursday, when Jared doesn’t have practice. Only Jensen doesn’t really wait around for Jared anymore when Jared has practice, even if he’s got hours of work to do, because he doesn’t want to watch Jared and Sandy making gooey eyes at each other after practice. 

They have lunch together every day with Rosey and Danneel, and Sandy joins them more often than not. Jensen tries, really tries to be nice to her. She makes it easier sometimes, like the half hour the five of them spend collectively abusing The Clone Wars, and impossible sometimes, when she sits quietly, listening to them talk about football or their brothers at college or anything she doesn’t really understand, her head on Jared’s shoulder, casual and intimate. The best he can do at these times is ignore her, or when she reaches out to take Jared’s hand, mutter about work and take his laptop to some remote corner, disregarding Jared’s worried stare.

They still hang out pretty much every day, doing homework, playing stupid computer games, continuing their Battlestar Galactica marathon to be ready for the last ten episodes. Jared doesn’t even suggest Sandy join them even though she hasn’t seen it before, because Jared and Jensen tend to go all Waldorf and Stettler, commenting on stuff that’d spoil the crap out of anyone watching with them. But he does talk about Sandy sometimes, between school and college worries and basketball and everything else they talk about, Jared also wonders aloud to Jensen why he can’t really get the nerve up to kiss Sandy, and Jensen wishes he wouldn’t, but he also doesn’t want Jared to feel like he can’t tell Jensen everything, no matter how stupid or trivial or important. 

What really changes, what bugs Jensen the most, more than Jared angsting about kissing, and Sandy leaning her cheek on Jared’s varsity jacket, more than Sandy sliding into the backseat of the Chevy, more than having to be nice to her, is that when Jared talks about plans, like ‘we should do this or that’, for the first time in his life, Jensen’s not automatically sure anymore that ‘we’ includes him. 

*-*

Jensen’s camped out in the very back of the gym storage room, laptop open, pencil stuck behind his ear. He’s waiting around for Jared because halfway through his afternoon AP Computer Sciences, he got a panicked text ‘NEED TO TALK ASAP’ from Jared, and so he took his homework and his laptop back here and has since abandoned any pretence of working on the former and is now fully immersed in his latest project. 

He’s abandoned the collage for now; it’s pointless and gloomy and there’s nothing he wants to say with it, really. 

But there’s a folder on his desktop with pictures he took that day they drove to that field, and none of them are of the trees. It’s the pictures he took of Jared. There’s about 30 of them, and they’re all really, really good. He’s working up some of them for printing; maybe he’ll do a serial for his CalArt application, different angles in different hues and lights and color-saturations. Maybe he’ll work up one as a pencil drawing, just to offer some contrast. He knows his CalArt application portfolio needs to be fucking spectacular, and he’s putting real effort into it. 

He’s so absorbed in his work that it takes a while to realize that somebody’s talking directly in front of the door to the storage room.

He immediately recognizes one of the voices as Sandy’s when she says, “I’m not sure what you mean,” in an uncertain, defensive tone.

“I meant exactly what I said, congratulations on bagging Padalecki,” another girl answers, and Jensen has no trouble identifying the speaker as Alona Tal, Chief Robot, Homecoming Queen, head cheerleader, Snake Extraordinaire. Her voice drips with saccharine fake friendliness. She’s been after Jared for years, not because she actually likes him, but because she wants to add him to her ‘trophy room’ of boyfriends. 

“I know, I’m lucky,” Sandy says, voice imitating Alona’s fake sweet tone with a definite hint of steel behind it. “He’s just about the nicest guy in school.”

“Nice. Yeah. Doesn’t hurt that he’s also just about the most popular guy in school,” Alona says, and Jensen knows the claws are about to come out. “Well, he always had a reputation of collecting oddities around him, you’ve just got to look at his friends, freaks and geeks anonymous.”

There’s a bell of fake laughs around them, and Jensen guesses it’s Alona’s posse of identically dressed, slavishly devoted girls who follow her around everywhere.

“Well, Jared has taste. That must be why he never went out with you,” Sandy says, her voice dripping with false sweetness, like honey on a razor blade. For the first time, Jensen feels something bordering on respect for her, especially when Alona just huffs and he hears footsteps leading away.

He gets to his feet and opens the door, making Sandy, who’s still standing in the corridor looking after Alona, nearly jump out of her skin. “God, Jensen, you scared the hell out of me!” she squeaks.

Jensen grins, nodding after Alona. “Well done.”

Sandy gives him a shaky smile. “Thanks. That’s gonna be it for me, though, she’s gonna ban me for a few games.” She pauses, looking after Alona and her posse. “Worth it, though.”

“Yeah, I imagine she’s been hard on you for a while now, right? She’s been after Jared for years,” Jensen says, leaning against the wall next to the door, “but he wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole, he always calls her the Homecoming Borg Queen, or Final Cylon.”

Sandy smiles. “Because she’s the Chief Robot, right?”

Jensen nods, and for the first time, he doesn’t find it difficult to return her smile. 

“Why do you call them robots?” Sandy asks, and Jensen has the grace to feel bad for having called her that many, many times, though never to her face.

He shrugs, gesturing in the general direction Alona and her posse went. “’cause they act like they’re perfect, like everything they do is perfect, like they can do no wrong, every hair always in place, make-up always perfect, outfit always perfect, grades and boyfriends and virginity always perfect, and of course it’s all fake, ‘cause nobody’s perfect all the time. And god forbid any of them actually does anything a little different from the group, like wear pink when it’s a blue day, or something. Nobody’s supposed to deviate from their perfect programming. Robots.”

Sandy smiles at him. “You know that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in the month I’ve known you?”

Jensen looks down at his boots. “Don’t talk much.”

“You’ve got a lot to say to Jared, though, and to Danneel and Michael, but not to me? Jensen, could it be that you’re just shy?” Sandy asks, and there’s something in her voice he resents, like she thinks he’s cute or like he secretly likes her or something, and he might’ve gained a new respect for her, but that’s never gonna happen.

Fortunately, there’s a voice calling from the gym door. “Hey, you two.”

Jensen looks up to see Jared walking towards him, already changed, wearing a sweater and jeans that just barely hang on his slim hips. _He’s too skinny,_ Jensen thinks, a weird, disconnected thought. He smiles at Jared, honestly glad to see him as always, and especially since his arrival draws Sandy’s attention away from Jensen.

Jared bounces up to them. “I’ve got big news, glad you’re both here, saves me telling it twice.”

“Spill,” Jensen says, watching with a detached kind of annoyance as Sandy insinuates herself under Jared’s arm.

Jared grins manically at them both, giving Sandy an affectionate squeeze, an edge of nervous energy about him that reminds Jensen of the weeks before the SATs. “Coach took me aside before practice today, told me a scout would be at the next game.” He reaches out to grab Jensen’s arm, get his full attention, which is hardly necessary. “A UCLA scout.”

Jensen swallows. He feels his heartbeat accelerate, wonders whether Jared can feel it, his hand’s still closed around Jensen’s wrist. “UCLA,” he repeats quietly. “Wow.”

For a moment, they look at each other quietly, and Jensen knows they’re thinking the same thing. Everything they’ve talked about for years, planned for years, is within arm’s reach.

“UCLA, wow, that’s great, Jared,” Sandy says, and Jensen starts ever so slightly. He’s completely forgotten she was there for a minute, and from the small shake of Jared’s head and the small, self-conscious smile, he knows Jared forgot, too. 

“It’s the dream,” Jared says, smiling at Jensen, who grins back. 

“I didn’t know you want to go to UCLA so badly,” Sandy says, something in her voice that makes Jensen feel distantly sorry for her.

Jared shrugs and finally takes his eyes off Jensen and lets go of Jensen’s wrist, turning to her. “Well, it’s not that I wanna go to UCLA so badly, but if I get into UCLA, and Jensen gets into CalArt, which is just about the best art school on the West Coast, we can stay together,” he says, looking up at Jensen again at the last words. Jensen smiles back, feeling warm all over. 

“You’re applying to a college just because Jensen might get into an art school near it?” Sandy asks, voice deeply skeptical.

“They’ve got an awesome journalism program, too, and he’d be able to take a few courses in Berkeley,” Jensen says, more snappy and defensive than he meant to.

Jared’s frowning at Sandy. “Yeah, exactly. We’ve thought this through, you know. We’ve picked out schools and everything. We’ve been talking about this since freshman year.”

“But you’ll go to UCLA even if Jensen doesn’t get into CalArt, right?” Sandy asks, and from her tone Jensen gets that she thinks they’re both nuts.

Jared stares at her. “Why wouldn’t Jensen get into CalArt? Have you seen his stuff? He’s a fucking genius.”

Jensen’s ears go hot, and he hides his smile by looking down at his boots. 

“Not my point,” Sandy says, clearly annoyed now, and Jensen’s had about enough of this conversation.

He looks at Jared over Sandy’s head. “I’m gonna grab my stuff and meet you at the car?”

Jared nods. “Ok.”

Jensen gives Sandy a little wave. “Bye, Sandy.”

“Bye, Jensen,” she says, sounding even more annoyed.

Jensen goes back into the storage room and closes the door on Sandy’s annoyed, “Look, Jared…”

Once the door’s closed, Jensen doesn’t even try to hide his big, broad, smug grin, and he feels only a little bad for hoping Jared’s gonna dump her ass now. Or the other way around.

He’s not really picky.

*-*

Jared doesn’t say much on the drive home. He just turns the music way up and beats the wheel in time with the drums, the best sign that he’s annoyed. 

When they arrive home, Jensen heads up to his house and Jared follows without a second’s hesitation. They say a quick hello to Jensen’s mom as they pass through the kitchen, then head straight upstairs. Jared takes off his jacket and toes off his sneakers before dropping onto Jensen’s bed, the expression on his face, the way his hair flops into his eyes and the way he’s sprawled on the bed combining to make him a poster boy for teen emo.

Jensen drops his backpack to the floor and sits down in the swivel chair at his desk. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks, tries to keep his voice neutral, interested but not too eager.

Jared shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. 

Jensen decides what they both need now is some candy and BSG, so he throws Jared a pack of gummy worms and pops in the DVD. He nudges Jared to move over, and Jared makes room for Jensen to sit down next to him on Jensen’s unmade bed. Jensen punches his pillow a few times until he’s comfortable, legs stretched out, arm brushing Jared’s shoulder when he moves. Jared shifts slightly so they’re a bit closer together, head propped up on the second pillow Jensen keeps on his bed for exactly this purpose. 

Dusk falls as they watch TV silently. Jensen doesn’t turn on the lights, even though he can barely see the remote anymore, or the gummy worms between them. More often than not, he brushes Jared’s hand when they reach for the candy at the same time. Jensen doesn’t mind. 

Occasionally, one of them comments on what’s happening on the show, but otherwise they’re quiet. They’re re-watching the Cobol Arc for the third time, total, and Jensen can and does mouth the dialogue along in some sequences. 

“It’s not that I couldn’t make it at college without you,” Jared says, suddenly, quietly, almost inaudibly with Sharon and Helo yelling their lungs out at each other.

Jensen fiddles with the DVD remote, resists the urge to press pause and look at Jared. “I know,” he says, hoping Jared doesn’t hear the hitch in his voice. That’s never what their plans have been about. At least not to him.

“That’s what she said, you know. She just doesn’t really get it,” Jared says, and Jensen feels Jared’s eyes on him, on his face, tracing his profile.

“It’d just be… it’d be weird without you, anywhere. Can’t really imagine it,” Jared mutters, barely audible.

Jensen forces himself to look at Jared, hopes the tightness in his throat doesn’t show on his face, grateful Jared can’t hear the way his heart’s beating, loud and erratic thump-thump-thump. He smiles at Jared, tries to keep his voice even and low. “Yeah. Me neither.”

Jared smiles at him, bumps his thigh with his fist. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Jensen gets it. He feels the same way. 

They watch TV until it’s fully dark, never turning on the light. Jensen feels safe and comfortable and wishes they could just stay here forever, in the dark, Jared’s arm brushing against his when they both reach for the candy.

He’s scared of asking about Sandy, because he knows Jared didn’t dump her or she him, but he doesn’t want to hear it, and right now everything feels right and good and warm and the way it’s supposed to be, but tomorrow at school, when Sandy sits down at the lunch table with them, Jensen will be back in the grip of this weird anxiety that makes him act like an asshole every single time.

“I wish they wouldn’t insist on showing us Adama’s naked torso, he’s one cool motherfucker, but that scarred me for life,” Jared says, sounding somewhat more like himself.

Jensen smiles. “I’ll start a collection for your therapy tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Jensen, you’re the kind of friend every guy needs,” Jared says, and it’s sarcastic and condescending, but he bumps Jensen’s thigh again, and Jensen smiles, because he hears the sincerity behind the ribbing.

“You’re welcome,” Jensen says. “Now shut up, I wanna watch this.”

He ignores Jared grumbling about how they’ve seen it a million times already and settles down to watch Starbuck and Six beat the shit out of each other, wishing he could freeze time the way he could just pause this DVD, wishing he could will everything to stay the way it is right now, just the two of them in the dark. He knows in half an hour Jared will be gone, at home eating dinner, and he selfishly wants Jared to ignore dinner and his family and Sandy and the world in general and stay here with Jensen and watch TV until they fall asleep, like they did when they were kids and everything was easy. But they aren’t kids anymore and Jensen has the feeling things are only gonna get more complicated from here on out, and half an hour later, Jared does leave for dinner, and Jensen goes down to have roast chicken and sweet peas, and then he goes back to his room and stares at the photos he took of Jared that day out in the field, nostalgia weighing his pencil down as he starts to draw.

*-*

“Hey, watch where you put that!” Rosey yells at Jensen. 'That' meaning Steve's guitar amp, which Jensen's just now carried in from the band van.

“That thing's fucking heavy, I'll have you know,” Jensen says, setting the amp down somewhere near where Steve's tuning his guitar. Steve nods a brief thanks, but doesn't move to help Jensen with the heavy equipment.

“It's what you get for missing our last show,” Danneel says, clapping Jensen on the back so hard he thinks she might've shattered a few vertebrae. She's lugging her bass guitar and two monitor speakers past him to the back where she's already set up her mike and her amp. “Help me with the cables, slave boy.”

Jensen groans, rubbing his already sore back. “You're enjoying this way, way too much.”

Danneel grins. “Guilty as charged. Now get over here.”

Jensen does as he's told which mainly consists of connecting various cables to various pieces of equipment under Danneel's supervision. Mike's busy setting up his drum set and gives Jensen a threatening look when Jensen offers to help, and Steve's completely lost to their banter, tuning and then picking idle tunes on his three guitars in turn, two electric, one acoustic. 

He only stops playing when Jensen arrives with the plug, asking which guitar he's gonna play first. Steve points at the electric red and silver one, then looks at Jensen as if he's seeing him for the first time this evening. He gazes around the room. “Where's Jared?”

“Out,” Jensen mutters. 

“J-bird's got a girlfriend now, didn't you get the memo?” Chris says, climbing up onto the stage, back from checking with the sound guys. 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, and goes back to picking idle tunes on his guitar.

“He's taking her out someplace special tonight,” Danneel says, and something in her tone suggests she might not object to be taken somewhere special one of these days.

Chris snorts. “Means he's gettin' laid,” he announces to the room in general.

Jensen makes a face. “Please, Chris, I've already eaten.”

Chris grins at Jensen, clapping him on the back. “No use pretending it doesn't bug the shit out of you, Jared leaving you solo after years of the two of you sowed together at the back. Time was I thought you two’d shack up someday. You should find a girl, too, J, might do you some good to get laid, get that teenage emo perma-frown off your face.”

Jensen shakes off Chris' hand. “Since when're you relationship Yoda? And it doesn't bug me,” he says, too defensive to be believable.

“Frankly, I thought Jared wasn't ever gonna get his cherry popped, what with your creepy ass sticking on him like gum,” Chris says, ruffling through Jensen's hair. “Now all you gotta do is stop following him around like a lost puppy and get a life of your own.”

“Fuck off,” Jensen says, trying for nonchalant, but he's angry and he knows it shows. He'd like to tell Chris to shut the hell up and not talk about things he doesn't understand, but he knows one way to wind Chris up further is letting on that he's bothering Jensen. 

“Don't get your panties in a twist, man,” Chris says, flopping down next to Jensen and throwing an arm across his shoulders. “I'm just sayin', it's past time the two of you had a, you know, more normal friendship.”

Jensen shakes off Chris' arm and gives him a grin that's all edge and no humor. “And it's past time you minded your own fucking business,” he says.

“Yeah, like starting fucking sound check already,” Danneel cuts in before Chris can say anything more. 

Jensen takes the cue and finishes plugging in the amp while Chris is testing the mike, then he jumps off the stage and sits in the back of the dim club, watching his friends during sound check, missing Jared and knowing he shouldn't, because he saw Jared not two hours ago, but normally they'd sit here together, ribbing their friends for how crap they always are during sound check, from Mike's enthusiastic and totally wild drum solos to the way Chris always screams into the mike to see what it can take. But tonight he's alone, like he's been a lot of Saturday nights lately, and he tells himself it's life, and that he just isn't used to it, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

*-*

That night, he walks home after the gig, sweat cooling on his skin and stinking of smoke all over. He's not entirely steady on his feet 'cause he drank a few beers more than he should have, but it doesn't really matter because Jared's got the car tonight. The air's cool and fresh, nice after the smoky club, and the night's too quiet for the residual humming in his ears. But he feels good, alive and young and stupid, feels his muscles burn pleasantly after jumping up and down all night to the music, clothes clinging to him, sweat-stained and cool, making his skin prickle. He hums one of his favorite The Lone Stars songs, glad he went, glad he got some of the antsiness that seems to live under his skin lately out of his system.

When he gets home, the Chevy's not in the driveway. Jared's gonna get grounded, he thinks idly. It's past midnight, and neither of them should strictly speaking be out this late.

Without wanting to, Jensen thinks of Chris' words earlier. 'Means he's getting laid'. 

He pushes the thought away. So far Jared hasn't even had the nerve to kiss Sandy, not to mention anything else. 

_And even if he's out getting laid,_ a small, defiant, very drunk voice in his head mutters grumpily, _none of my fucking business, it doesn't bug me, stupid Chris, shut the fuck up, we're normal, what does normal even mean? Shut up, Chris._

He lets himself into the house quietly and sneaks upstairs, his good mood somewhat diminished by that grumpy voice holding an one-sided argument with Christian fucking Kane, of all people, pot-head, living with his parents at 23, garage-band having, burger-flipping Christian fucking Kane, who really, knows absolutely shit about shit.

The house is quiet. His parents and kid sister are fast asleep. He toes off his Docs so he won't wake them walking along the corridor. 

Once inside his room, he pulls off his clothes and throws them into his laundry basket, glad he's agreed with his mom that he's doing his own laundry so she won't smell the smoke, the beer and the pot on his clothes. He briefly considers a shower, he feels disgusting and he knows he stinks. But then he hears the Chevy's engine roar down the street, and he freezes by the window, watching as Jared parks the car, gets out and throws the routine glance at Jensen's bedroom window. Jensen's oddly glad he didn't turn on the light. Still, he sees Jared's eyes linger on the window, and Jensen feels oddly self-conscious of his own nakedness, even though he's sure Jared can't see him through the darkness and the distance, and he flushes scarlet with mingled excitement and shame.

Jared doesn't linger, he slams the car door, very loud in the stillness of the night, and goes inside, and Jensen's eyes follow him until he's in the house.

The lights of Jared's bedroom window reflect out into the street, and finally, Jensen turns away from the window and gets into bed, feeling oddly uncomfortable in his own skin, like his body's a stranger, not entirely reliable anymore, because his skin is itching and his dick is hard and he's wired like somebody connected him to a light socket. 

And then his phone beeps, and without thinking he picks it up, flips it open, reads the message, 'I kissed her!', the light of the cell phone illuminating his face, and he wonders whether the nausea he feels is anywhere near what Chris meant with 'normal'.

*-*

Nothing really changes, not even after that.

Jensen doesn’t see himself being friends with Sandy, like, ever, but they've settled into this kind of status quo. They've sort of adopted Sandy into their group, only not really, 'cause she doesn't really have much in common with any of them. But she's nice enough, Jensen supposes, as far as it goes, and he's learning, slowly, to live with her. And if their conversations aren't exactly riveting, detailed expressions of their innermost thoughts, at least Jensen's learning to be polite. 

He doesn't have much time to think about her, anyway. Neither of them does, really. Danneel and Mike are busy with the band, they've finally gotten a few label guys interested enough to get them talking about a showcase. Jared's got practice and homework (his and Jensen’s), plus the school paper, and Jensen, well, Jensen's got his homework and Jared’s, plus art school applications, which alone would be enough, but he's also helping with the school paper, supplying photographs as they're needed, and so between homework and picking out pictures to go with Jared's articles and BSG marathon sessions, Jensen sees a lot more of Jared than Sandy does during lunch and their one date night per week, so really, it'd be petty to begrudge her the tiny piece of Jared she gets that Jensen doesn't. And it doesn’t bug him when they kiss in front of him, at least that’s what he’s telling himself. 

It's fine, really. It's fine. It should be fine.

It should be, but somehow, it isn’t. 

*-*

It takes Jensen a few minutes to realize he's being watched. He's busy converting his pictures into printable format, and while it's boring work, it does take up a lot of his attention, so he only looks up from his computer when somebody standing before him gives a small cough.

He looks up from his laptop to see Sandy standing there, smiling at him. “Hey, Jensen.”

“Ummm...” Jensen looks around, but there's nobody else in sight, which would've been a miracle, given that it's 4.30 pm and he's currently in one of the lesser used classrooms right next to the darkroom and the school's best color printer. “Hi?”

He's calculating the chances of her finding him in here by accident, and they're approaching zero, so he figures Jared must've told her where he was, meaning she wants something. Given the sunny way she's smiling at him he guesses his theory's not so far off base. “What do you want?” he asks, suspicion in his every syllable.

“Do I have to want something other than the pleasure of your company?” she asks, faux-sweetly.

“You're spending too much time with Danneel,” Jensen mutters, and Sandy laughs. He gives her a brief smile, then makes a 'go on' gesture. “Seriously, what do you want? A kidney? Bone marrow? My 'Frakkin' Toaster' t-shirt?”

Sandy laughs again. “Oh, as if you'd ever part with that t-shirt, I'd have an easier time separating you from that laptop.”

“So you want to borrow my laptop? Answer's no, hell no, no friggin' way no,” Jensen says, holding a protective hand over his baby.

Sandy rolls her eyes. “Jesus, you'd think I was asking for your first-born. But seriously, I don't want any organs, t-shirts or equipment, I just want you.”

“For what?” Jensen asks, even more suspicious than before.

“Taking pictures of the school charity fair for the yearbook? I'm on both the fair and the yearbook committee, and we wanna do a double-page spread of the fair, and we'll need some really awesome pictures, so Jared suggested I ask you,” Sandy says, in an excited rush, barely drawing breath between words. “I snatched both committee posts right from under Alona Tal’s nose, and now I need to be awesome at it, or she’ll gloat and then I’d have to kill her, and you don’t wanna be responsible for that, right?”

“I think I would've preferred the kidney,” Jensen mutters. There's few things he'd like to do less than attend some stupid school event to take pictures of stupid cheerleaders and stupid jocks doing stupid fair stuff like throwing balls at bottles and all that crap, so that Sandy can score points against the Borg Final Cylon Homecoming Queen.

“Jared said he's sure you'll be nice and do it, since he's volunteered to help as well,” Sandy says, giving Jensen her best imitation of Jared's puppy dog look. “Please?” she adds, driving the knife in for the kill. “For Jared?”

Jensen grinds his teeth together so hard it's a miracle his molars don't crack. “Fine,” he mutters, fending her off when she squeals and tries to hug him. “But if you try to hug me again, I quit.”

She laughs and runs off to tell Jared, and Jensen tries to get back to his work but gets interrupted by fantasies of Sandy's head swelling up and exploding with a poof, releasing all the air inside. 

*-*

The fair is, as was to be expected, noisy, crowded and lame. The entire student body, it seems has come out to throw balls at bottles, eat pink cotton candy, break the cheap rides and throw up hotdogs behind the merry-go-round. There’s also a booth where people get to throw pies at the football jocks, which Jensen judges as the only sensible activity offered at the entire fair. He gets some excellent pictures of Danneel launching several cherry pies at Dean Sanders, an especially idiotic jock who’d tried to grab her ass in the lunch line the other day. 

The view through the camera lens makes Jensen feel oddly detached, an unit in a crowd. He doesn’t really linger to talk to Danneel and Rosenbaum, nor to Jared, who’s manning a booth selling a syrupy substance labeled punch, looking bored out of his skull. He’s moving through the fair looking for a good motive. He gets some good pictures of the small Ferris wheel at dusk, when the lights go on, and a few good ones of the booths, slowly spinning cotton candy, cookies fresh from the oven, a tiny freshman girl ramming her go-cart into Alona Tal’s with an air of smug triumph, Jared, Danneel and Rosenbaum sitting on Jared’s booth, drinking sticky-sweet punch and shooting the shit. 

After a while, Jensen gets thirsty, so he puts the camera down for a while and goes over to Jared’s booth to get his own mug of disgusting punch. Danneel and Rosenbaum have re-joined the crowd, and Jared greets Jensen with a relieved grin. 

“Where’ve you been, man?” Jared asks, making room for Jensen to sit on the booth, “I’m so bored I almost started writing your history essay.”

Jensen smirks, hoisting himself onto the booth next to Jared, who’s leaning against its inner side on both elbows. “That’s desperation.” He looks around. “Where’s Sandy?”

Jared shrugs with a kind of dismissive indifference. “Who knows? We’re not attached to the hip, after all.”

Biting back a _Thank God for small favors_ , Jensen gestures at the booth. “How did she get you to do this again?”

Jared sighs glumly. “Wheedled me until I said yes. Also, Coach said if I want to play the game next Friday, I’ve gotta show some team spirit on and off the court, ‘cause all the other players get involved in this sort of thing, only I never volunteer for this school spirit stuff.”

“Because it’s lame,” Jensen says, reasonably. “Doesn’t he know how much that game means to you?”

“Sure he knows,” Jared mutters, darting a dirty look at the group of teachers currently clustered around Coach Morgan, who’s giving out hot dogs. “He reminds me every practice that the scout’s coming and that my entire future depends on my performance in that game.”

“But no pressure,” Jensen adds in a sarcastic imitation of the coach’s gruff voice and tone. He swings his legs against the booth, the rubber of his Docs connecting with the wood in a sharp drum staccato. He looks down at Jared, who’s still looking at the coach, genuine worry line on his forehead. “Hey, Jared,” he says, dropping his voice low so only Jared can hear him.

Jared looks up and smiles absently, hair falling into his face nearly obscuring his eyes. Jensen’s fingers itch to push it back. “Yeah?” Jared’s voice isn’t any louder than Jensen’s.

Jensen puts a hand on Jared’s shoulder, feels bone and muscle through the thick hoodie Jared’s wearing, shockingly immediate. “You’ll be great.”

Jared’s smile turns more genuine. “Thanks,” he says, “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” The small frown line comes back. “You’ll be there, right?” Jared asks, as if he’s genuinely worried Jensen won’t show, which is too ridiculous for words.

“Of course. Have I ever missed a game?” he asks, snorting in ridicule of the mere thought. 

Jared smiles at him, all dimples. “Ok, yeah, stupid question,” he says, rubbing his head against Jensen’s shoulder, a stupid gesture of affection he’s been copying from the family dogs since he was seven years old, but it’s never felt quite like this before, this warm, this good. 

And god, why does it mean so _much_ , that Jared’s so relieved, that Jared wants him there so much, that his smile makes Jensen feel like the center of the cosmos, why does it matter so much it almost hurts? 

He’s dimly aware that he’s sitting so close to Jared he’s very nearly pressed to the side of Jared’s body, that Jared’s head’s still kind of leaning against his shoulder, and he feels completely conscious of every millimeter of his body touching Jared’s, like he’s more alive there or something, and it’s electrifying and terrifying and the best feeling in the world.

He has to say something, to get his breath out of his body, because it seems stuck in his throat somewhere. “Your punch is disgusting,” he says quietly, unable to raise his voice over a mutter. Though to tell the truth, he’s glad nobody bothers to buy the punch because everybody knows Mrs. Gamble the French teacher made it and she’s famous for her disgusting recipes from every single dance the school’s held in recent memory, meaning Jared’s booth is pretty much ignored. 

Jared laughs, and Jensen feels it vibrate through his body down to his toes. “Yeah,” he says, and he still doesn’t move away from Jensen, apparently completely comfortable with the fact that they’re kind of, almost snuggling. “I spiked some of it,” Jared adds in a conspiratory whisper. “Want some?”

Jensen shakes his head, careful not to move too much. “Nah, I’m good.” It’s the truest thing he’s said in a while.

“How’s the CalArt application coming?” Jared asks, finally removing his head from Jensen’s shoulder but not moving much otherwise, so his side’s pretty much still pressed against Jensen’s, though not as obviously. 

Jensen shrugs, turning his head away a bit so Jared won’t see his face too clearly, ‘cause Jensen’s feeling… well, he’s feeling _something_ , and he doesn’t know how much of it shows on his face. “Good. It’s good.”

“Am I ever gonna see any of it?” Jared asks, nudging Jensen in the side with his elbow. 

“Nope.” It’s idiotic, given that he’s using the pictures for a friggin’ art school application, but the mere idea of Jared seeing the pictures Jensen took of him feels more personal than stripping naked, or Jared watching him in the shower. “Don’t wanna jinx it,” he adds as an afterthought, because he can’t possibly say what he really feels. 

“Hey, you guys!” 

Jensen starts violently and almost jumps away from Jared, nearly falling off the booth in the process. He looks up at the intruder. It’s Sandy, looking at Jensen with an amused smile that mirrors Jared’s cackle. 

“Hey, Sandy. Got some good pictures,” Jensen says, holding up his camera, aware that his voice sounds higher and more strained than the situation warrants at all. 

“That’s nice,” Sandy says, giving him an odd look, like she doesn’t entirely trust his sanity right now. She leans over the booth and kisses Jared quickly, and he smiles at her, bright and happy, and Jensen needs to get away before something inside of him bursts.

He mutters something about more pictures and a higher angle and nearly runs away from the two of them, aware that Jared’s calling something after him but unable to make sense of the words. 

Mechanically, he walks towards the football stalls. From up there he’s gonna get some awesome panorama shots, he’s sure of it. 

He climbs up the steps, letting the cool night air take away some of the heat in his face, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. _Don’t say it, don’t even think about it, just ignore it, it’ll pass,_ he thinks.

His hands shake ever so lightly when he lifts the camera to his face and tries to focus the lens on a good motive. There, the Ferris wheel and a few laughing sophomores joking and waving back and forth between ground and height. Unfocused lights and a starry sky above, he can add a streaking effect post-exposure. 

Slowly, the concentrated detachment of looking at life through digital zoom calms Jensen down until he’s in a zone of creative Zen again. The view from the top of the stalls is really amazing. He takes pictures of the dark school, the gym building, the football pitch, before turning back to the fair and its many moving, colorful targets. He thinks about submitting a photo story to the school paper and adding it to his application portfolio, but dismisses the thought when he remembers he promised the best of the pictures to Sandy.

He focuses the camera on Jared’s booth, illuminated by a small string of red lights. Jared’s talking to Sandy, who’s sitting exactly where Jensen was sitting before. She leans down to press a kiss to Jared’s lips, her hand curling in his hair, and Jensen’s finger snaps the picture automatically, even as something wells up in Jensen from the bottom of his guts, something that feels suspiciously like _want_. 

*-*

Jensen stays up in the stalls for a long time, until the night air’s cold enough for him to want the jacket he left in the car. He’s packed the camera away. There’s no security in watching from a distance anymore. 

When the sounds from the fair indicate the raffle’s over and it’s time to pack up and go home, he moves reluctantly from his bench, picks up his camera bag and makes his way slowly down to the parking lot towards the Chevy.

Sandy’s waiting by the car, rubbing her arms. She smiles at Jensen sheepishly. “I left my jacket in the car and I can’t get the door open,” she says, gesturing at the back seat, where her jacket’s been flung carelessly over his messenger bag.

Jensen nods mutely, stepping towards the car door. He pulls up and twists a little, and the door opens without so much as a squeak.

Sandy smiles. “Thank you.” She pulls out her jacket carelessly without looking, and his messenger bag falls out of the car, scattering its contents over the concrete.

Jensen bends down immediately to scoop up the CalArt pictures that’ve spilled out of their envelope, but Sandy’s already there, muttering apologies as she gathers up his belongings. Her fingers close around the envelope and Jensen can see her freeze when she sees what she’s holding in her hands.

She pulls out the pictures, all fifteen of them, and Jensen’s frozen with embarrassment, like she’s pulled his pants down, only far, far worse.

“These are beautiful,” Sandy mutters, flipping through the pictures of Jared asleep and sprawled out in the grass, trusting and gorgeous. “They’re… they’re amazing.”

She’s no longer looking at the pictures, though; she’s staring at Jensen as if she’s never seen him before. “You… oh my god, you _like_ him, don’t you?”

The words aren’t unkindly spoken, but Jensen feels like she’s punched him in the gut, hard, and it hurts like only the truth can. He kneels down and grabs the pictures out of her hands, stuffs them back into his bag. “Leave my stuff alone,” he says instead of a denial he doesn’t have words for. There’s a humming in his ears of blood rushing, he can feel his heart beating so hard it’s nearly painful.

Sandy’s still staring at him, and the look of mingled pity and resentment she shoots him makes Jensen irrationally angry. 

“I was so stupid,” Sandy says, still staring at Jensen, slowly rising to her feet. “It makes perfect sense. And I thought you were an asshole to me because you were shy, but you’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“What the fuck do you know?” Jensen bites back, voice no more than an angry hiss, because how dare this girl, this intruder, this nobody, tell him what he feels as if she’s got any real idea, as if she knows him, as if she knows _them_. “Keep your nose out of my stuff and out of my friendship with Jared. You’ve known him for, what, two seconds, and you claim you understand, but you know shit, sweetheart. You’re only dating him because he’s ever so popular, and you can use him to fight your stupid little cheerleader wars with Alona. Bet he scored you a lot of points in the bitchfight.”

Sandy looks at him, her pretty face white and angry, and yet unsurprised, and still there’s this terrible, horrible pity lurking beneath her obvious fury.

“Jensen!” It’s not Sandy who says his name like he’s struck a physical blow. 

Slowly, Jensen turns around to face Jared, who’s looking at him like he’s a stranger. “That’s a horrible thing to say,” Jared says, voice quiet but determined. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but that was way out of line. Apologize.”

Suddenly Jensen feels like somebody peeled off the soles of his shoes and every grain of life has drained out of him in one big rush. “I’m sorry,” he mutters in a barely audible voice, then he grabs his stuff from the floor and walks away without looking back. 

*-*

He takes the long way home. His feet move automatically, thankfully not requiring thought to guide them. 

He doesn’t even try denial. There’s no use pretending he doesn’t see it anymore. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. It’s just a stupid crush. It’ll fade. It’s just a stupid phase. He’s seventeen; it’s just hormones and stress. It’s never been a problem before. It’ll go away. It’s natural that his raging hormones should attach themselves to his best friend, the person he’s always felt closest to. He loves Jared, of course, always has, always will, but this, this is something separate, something that makes his body hum and his stomach warm and his skin tingle, and it doesn’t mean anything, and it’ll go away, sooner or later.

Only he’s not sure he wants it to go away. It hurts, it sucks, it’s stupid, and awkward as all hell, but it makes him feel alive, fills him up entirely with this humming, thrumming energy, makes him feel good like nothing else, even painting. 

But he’s pretty sure Jared’s entire body doesn’t vibrate like a string has been plucked inside when Jensen touches him, and he’s pretty sure Jared doesn’t passionately hate everybody else Jensen touches, and he’s also pretty sure that if Jensen, by any chance, kissed anybody, Jared wouldn’t wish it was him in her place. 

And that’s why this just has to stop. Has to. Because Jensen’s pretty sure even a friendship like theirs can’t take this kind of strain forever. And Jensen will be damned before he loses Jared. Nothing’s that important. Nothing.

When he comes home, Jared’s sitting on the steps of Jensen’s front porch. He looks tired and worried and pissed. Jensen wants to run. It suddenly occurs to him that Jared might possibly _know_ , maybe he heard what Sandy said, maybe Sandy told him about her suspicions. And whatever Jared has to say to that, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it. 

He savagely suppresses the impulse to run, but he can’t quite stop his feet from slowing down as if they’re suddenly a lot heavier. He knows Jared’s watching him, but it’s dark, and he keeps his eyes on the ground, as if he needs to watch every step he takes.

For a moment, he hesitates in front of his own porch, picking off chips of paint from the wood with his fingernails. Then he sits down on the steps next to Jared, leaving as much space between them as possible. 

The silence is a heavy one. For the first time in as long as Jensen can remember, he doesn’t know what to say to Jared. So he watches his own hands fidget with the laces of his boots, ignoring the way his heart hammers loudly in the stillness of the night. It’s cold, he can feel it in his hands and his face and the bottom of his ratty jeans. But he knows he’s gonna sit here until Jared says something. 

“You maybe wanna tell me something?” Jared asks, softly, and still Jensen almost jumps out of his skin.

He decides to play dumb. “Like what?” he asks, quietly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

“Like why you and Sandy were arguing?” Jared asks, and Jensen can hear the creaking of the stairs, knows Jared’s turning to him, trying to get a good look at his face. 

Jensen still watches, apparently fascinated, his own hands fidgeting with his shoes, handling the laces, scraping nails along the thick rubber soles. He might as well ask. “What did Sandy tell you?”

“Nothing, really, she said I should ask you,” Jared says, and his tone indicates that Sandy didn’t exactly give him much choice in the matter. 

Relief makes Jensen slightly dizzy. He doesn’t know. And he never has to find out. “It was nothing, it was stupid,” he says, tentatively darting a glance at Jared, who looks kind of pissed, but makes a move for Jensen to go on. “She… she dropped my CalArt pictures, and I flipped.”

It’s the truth, as far as it goes, and it has the desired effect, because Jared rolls his eyes so hard it must hurt, and shakes his head, but he doesn’t look pissed anymore, more annoyed. “God, Jensen, you’re really putting way too much pressure on yourself. Is CalArt really that important to you?”

_CalArt and UCLA. A small, crappy student apartment halfway between campuses. The Chevy held together with duct tape and love, backseat overflowing with paint supplies and heavy textbooks. Arguing over doing laundry and dishes and what movie to watch on Friday evenings. Homework and course work and waiting tables to afford more than Cheerios and grilled cheese sandwiches to live by._

It’s everything Jensen wants in a nutshell. Art and life and Jared. He swallows. “Yeah. It is.”

Jared’s hand lands on his shoulder, and Jensen knows, with staggering, powerful relief, that he’s forgiven, that everything’s fine, that Jared still loves him, much as he ever did, and it’s good, and wonderful, and in that moment, not nearly, not even closely, enough.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Jared says, warm, supporting, and Jensen nods, because he can’t talk through the tightness in his chest. “You’ll be fine. You’ll see. Now all you have to do is apologize to Sandy.”

_Great,_ Jensen thinks while nodding seriously at Jared, _That’ll be fun._

He makes a mental note to wear the steel-tipped Docs to school on Monday. Just in case.

*-*

Jensen’s palms are sweating and he feels like he’s swallowed rusty nails. He’s rarely felt more awkward in his own skin, and Sandy isn’t helping, because she’s been glaring at him for the entire time it took to walk across the courtyard to where she’s sitting, alone, thank god, catching some late November sun.

“Yes?” she says when he stops three steps away from her, staring avidly at her pink Converse.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he says, tracing the hoops of her laces with his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her face, because he was out of line, sure, and he didn’t actually mean a word he said, but he’s got no qualms now admitting that he greatly dislikes her on the principle of her having the gall to be Jared’s girlfriend. Still. “I was completely out of line, and there’s no excuse for what I said.”

“No, there’s not.” Her voice is low and severe, and he knows whatever truce they strike today will be superficial at best, because the truth is out, and there’s no going back from that. 

“I know,” Jensen says, finally managing to look into her eyes to convey that he’s actually, really sorry for what he said. 

She holds his gaze for longer than he’s comfortable with, then finally, she nods. “Okay, fine.”

It’s the best he’s gonna get, and from the way her eyes drop from his he knows he could go now, and that’d be it. But he has one more thing to say. “Thank you. For, you know, not… telling,” he says, barely above a mumble, addressing himself to her shoes.  
Sandy shrugs, but he can see that she, too, is uncomfortable. “Oh, believe me, he’s not gonna hear it from me,” she says, voice not much louder than Jensen’s. 

“Thanks,” Jensen says, relieved, and he knows it’s audible in his voice. He holds out a hand, offering the memory stick he’s been clutching all the way over here. It’s a bit damp from the sweat of his palms. “Here, your pictures. I marked the ones I’d pick,” he says, adding, quickly, quietly, embarrassed, “There’s one of you and Jared, a really nice one, I marked it too.”

She takes the stick and puts it in her bag, quickly, as if touching it for too long puts her under some kind of obligation. “Thanks,” she says, and it’s obvious he’s at least as embarrassed as he is.

Silence falls. Jensen’s eyes are on Sandy’s shoes again, and Sandy’s rummaging in her bag, busying herself so she doesn’t have to look at him.

“So, bye then,” Jensen says, rather awkwardly, turning to walk away.

“Jensen?” Sandy calls after him, sounding none too sure of herself.

He half-turns, looking at her sitting on that bench, uncertain and embarrassed. “Yeah?”

She half-smiles. “Those pictures… they’re amazing.”

Jensen swallows. Suddenly he can’t hate her anymore, can’t even resent her. Suddenly, he has more in common with her than anyone else on the planet. “Thanks,” he says. They exchange a short nod. Everything’s said that’s ever gonna be said about the subject. He walks away without turning back.

That afternoon, he seals the envelope containing his application, addresses it and posts it without hesitation or second thought. He’s gonna get this. He’s never been more certain.

*-*

The gym is packed. Their side is all in white and green, the school colors, the other side’s a sea of red-gold. Excitement’s thick in the air, an almost tangible electricity of emotion. The game itself doesn’t really matter that much. It’s a mid-season game against an inferior opponent. Jensen’s pretty sure nobody on their side doubts they’ll win, and even if they lose, they’ll still have ample time to make up any points they lose tonight. 

Still, everybody’s excited and animated and looking forward to the game, more as an excuse to yell loudly and wave around school flags than for any real interest in the game. People are talking about players and past performances, and school scarves and sweaters and flags are everywhere. 

Jensen barely listens to Rosey and Danneel sitting next to him a few rows up in their usual seats. He’s watching Coach Morgan talk to a middle-aged man in faded jeans and a leather jacket. Jensen’s pretty sure the guy’s the UCLA scout. 

The cheerleaders are performing their warm-up routine and Jensen listens with one ear to Rosey and Danneel’s commentary, all the while watching the scout taking a seat next to the principal and the gym teacher in the first row.

“You know,” Rosey says conversationally, hooking an arm around Jensen’s neck, “no matter how hard you try, I bet you won’t be able to inscribe ‘Jared Padalecki is awesome’ into the back of his skull just by the force of your glare.”

“Or have you gone psychic on us, Jensen?” Danneel asks, waggling her fingers at him. “Pick a number, any number.”

“Fuck off,” Jensen mutters, smiling in spite of himself, shaking off Rosenbaum’s arm. He tears his eyes away from the scout and instead fixes his gaze on the doors to the locker rooms, restlessly tapping an arrhythmic pattern with his foot.

“Jesus, will you stop fidgeting?” Rosenbaum elbows him in the ribs, hard. “And for god’s sake, if you gotta tap your foot, at least tap it in some kinda recognizable rhythm.”

“Ow.” Jensen rubs his ribs, glaring daggers at Rosenbaum. Okay, so he’s nervous. This is Jared’s big chance. It’s completely natural to be nervous. 

Plus, this hasn’t exactly been the easiest week of his life.

It’s one thing to say that he’s not gonna let his tiny, little insignificant crush get in the way of his friendship with Jared, but, well, to be honest, it’s not as easy as it sounds. Monday morning when he got into the car with Jared, he felt so awkward he didn’t even want to look at Jared. He questioned everything he said or did, every time he touched Jared or Jared touched him, he nearly flinched, because he kept constantly second guessing himself. Would somebody who’s not crushing on Jared touch his shoulder? Would a normal friend look at him so much? Would Jared notice that Jensen acts different, feels different? Would a normal friend live in a state of crippling, silent awkwardness with Jared’s girlfriend?

That’s why, from Tuesday on, he got up half an hour earlier than usual to catch the bus to school. He told Jared he has to work on a few projects for AP Computer Sciences and his art class, which is true enough as far as it goes. Still, Jared looked at him oddly, like he didn’t quite believe him, and has been watching him closely all week. 

He’s glad he still had to finish his last few art school application portfolios. It gave him an excuse to spend his lunch breaks in the computer lab or the dark room. He’s been catching rides home with Danneel all week, but Jared’s been too busy with training to notice.

He misses Jared like a severed limb, but he needs the distance and the solitude to bring his emotions under control. Then things can go back to normal. 

“You’re doing it again,” Danneel says, nudging his jingling foot with a knee. 

“Sorry,” Jensen says, shaking his head as if he could shake off the queasy feeling in his guts. 

“One of these days,” Danneel says, leaning close so she’s almost speaking directly into his ear, “you and I are gonna have a looong talk about what exactly’s going on in your pretty little head right now.”

Jensen snorts. “Yeah. And then we’ll braid each other’s hair and you can call me Doris.”

Danneel just grins at him knowingly. Fortunately, the cheerleaders have ended their performance and Sandy’s waving at them right at that moment, distracting Danneel. She and Sandy exchange a few quick gestures informing Sandy of the position of the scout, and by the way she’s staring at him, Jensen knows he’s not the only one rooting for telepathic powers tonight. Again, he feels this odd, resentful stab of kinship with Sandy. She’s the only one who looks as anxious as he feels.

The doors open, and the players walk in. Jensen’s eyes are glued to Jared the second he walks in. He looks nervous and uncertain. He exchanges the briefest of waves with Sandy, scanning the crowd like he’s looking for something. When he meets Jensen’s eyes, he grins, blinding, relieved. Jensen returns the smile, his heart beating a million miles an hour. He gives Jared a thumbs-up. Jared nods, still looking nervous, but somehow more confident. The coach jogs over to speak to the team briefly, his clipped hand gestures and short pat on Jared’s back speaking eloquently of his own nervousness.

The players take positions. It goes strangely quiet in Jensen’s head. A shrill whistle, and the game’s on.

*-*

It’s pretty clear from the first five minutes that Jensen needn’t have worried. Jared plays amazing. He’s everywhere, he defends and passes and scores; he holds the team together, he’s the axis around who the game turns. He jumps higher and runs faster than Jensen’s ever seen him, in short he plays like he’s in the zone, like he can’t miss, and Jensen finds it hard to tear his eyes off him for even a second. He’s sweaty, his hair’s a mess, he’s flushed with exertion yet obviously having the time of his life. He’s gorgeous and brilliant, and occasionally he looks in their direction and gives Jensen this grin, this triumphant, world-conquering grin, and Jensen wants to press close to him, feel the heat of his body, lick that grin off his face. 

It’s weird, allowing himself to indulge these thoughts after having ruthlessly suppressed them for the longest time, but in a crowd of two hundred people, he feels free to stare, to think, to want. He knows at least a quarter of the audience is staring at Jared and thinking the same thing. _Gorgeous._

It’s hard to concentrate on the game. Jensen’s dimly aware that they’re winning, that the school’s going crazy around him, that the scout looks happy and the coach elated, but all Jensen really sees is Jared. 

Jensen gets jostled by students left and right waving and cheering. His ears are ringing with the noise. It’s really hot in the hall, and Jensen’s head’s swimming a bit, like he’s underwater. His heart’s drumming, the excitement of the game and the spectators catching him and carrying him on a wave of elation. He sees himself cheering Jared on, wearing an oversized UCLA t-shirt, in a bigger, better hall in Los Angeles. He can almost taste the future on his tongue, freedom, opportunity, Pacific breeze. 

A shrill, ecstatic whistle, and the game’s over. Before he can think about it, Danneel and Rosenbaum and most of the crowd carry him with them down onto the court. People are hugging, clapping each other on the back, and suddenly, there’s Jared, working his way through the crowd, and suddenly Jensen’s pressed close against 6’5’’ of sweat-soaked, hot like a furnace Jared, and it feels so amazing Jensen forgets where he is.

Jared’s skin is damp, his shirt’s soaked, his body’s warm and solid and he smells amazing. His sweat’s slowly soaking through Jensen’s clothes, but he doesn’t care, he holds on to Jared as tightly as Jared holds on to him. He closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the feel of Jared’s damp back under his palms, the sweaty curls tickling the side of his face. He turns his face ever so slightly, his nose pressing to the side of Jared’s neck. Jared’s laughing happily, and Jensen feels it vibrate through his entire body. Jared’s holding on to him so tight he’s nearly crushing him in his elation, and it makes breathing hard, and it makes Jensen feel special and alive.

Then, suddenly, shockingly, Jared lets Jensen go, and Jensen shivers, restrains himself with great difficulty from holding onto Jared and pulling him back, unwilling to let go, like, ever.

And then Sandy’s there, and Jared picks her up and kisses her, and Jensen feels dimly like a horse kicked him in the chest, really hard, shattering his breastbone and collapsing a lung. 

Everything’s a jumble. Coach shows up and pulls Jared aside, the team crowding around them, while the spectators are slowly drifting out of the hall. Jensen feels Danneel’s hand on his shoulder. “You coming?” she asks. 

Jensen remembers that she’s his ride. He nods vaguely, not taking his eyes off Jared, Sandy still close to him, holding his hand. Coach’s pointing the team towards the changing rooms, and Jensen hears Jared yell at them, “Pizza Hut, half an hour!” before the entire team plus cheerleaders vanishes in the changing rooms.

Jensen just stands there, and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself now, has lost feel of his body. Danneel’s standing at his shoulder, waiting, quietly.

Finally, she takes his arm, says, “Come on,” softly, like he’s sick or something, and drags him off out of the hall.

The cool night air is soothing, restores some feeling to Jensen’s face and his limbs. He lets Danneel lead him to the parking lot, lets her push him into her car. 

She gets in and slams her door, and they sit for a while in silence. Danneel’s chewing at her lip piercing, drumming her fingers against the wheel.

“So you’re in love with Jared,” she says after a few moments, casually dismissive with a definite strain behind it.

Jensen just stares out of the windshield. “Yeah,” he says, not even thinking of denial. 

Danneel blows a strand of hair out of her face. “Well, shit.” 

It actually startles a laugh out of Jensen, even it it’s more air than sound. “Yeah,” he repeats. He can’t really think of anything else to say.

Danneel starts the car. “Come on, I’ve got some beers I’ve been saving for an emergency. I figure this counts.”

Jensen looks at her from the side. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely. 

She grins and backs out of the parking lot. “Don’t mention it, Doris.”

*-*

It’s much later, and Jensen’s pleasantly relaxed. He’s sprawled on Danneel’s bed, taking a long swig of the beer she just passed him, courtesy of Chris, who buys Rosey and Danneel a six-pack whenever they want in return for them putting up with his sometimes shitty moods. 

Danneel nudges his shoulder with her foot. “Give me the chips, hog.”

Jensen hands over the salt and vinegar chips and watches Danneel soak them in coke before eating them.

“That’s disgusting,” he declares. She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs at the childish gesture so at odds with her tough-girl tongue stud. 

He calms down when he notices Danneel’s watching him. “What?” he asks.

“So, you’re gay?” she asks, conversationally, randomly, as if she’s only just thought about it.

“Hm.” Oddly, he hasn’t even really thought about that yet. He takes a good, long look at Danneel, her wild, black-pink-red hair, her piercings, her pale skin and dark eyeshadow, her slim figure and strategically ripped clothes, the soft curve of her body, the freckles on her nose. She’s beautiful, he realizes, in all the ways he should find really attractive. “Yeah,” he says. The thought bounces off the surface of his beer buzz before sinking into his consciousness. “I’m gay.” He tests the words out. It doesn’t really bother him. Not now, at least.

“Cool.” Danneel gives him an encouraging smile. “I call hag, by the way.”

Jensen snorts. “Don’t think you’ll get much competition.”

They share a look, and suddenly, it’s really funny, because they both start laughing, and they don’t stop for a while. 

*-*

The thing about epiphanies is, they drop a realization in your lap, and then they leave.

So, Jensen’s in love with Jared. Like, really in love with him. This isn’t just a crush. It won’t go away if Jensen holds his breath and swallows seven times, like an irritating hiccup. 

And the thing is, he can’t just avoid Jared and wait for the realization to sink in, to move under his skin, to be bearable, livable. 

He tries. He really does. The first few days after the game, he takes the bus to school. He eats lunch by himself in the dark room. He catches rides with Danneel. He does his best to avoid Jared without making it obvious that he does. 

It doesn’t help that his art school applications are done and sent off, and nothing he works on seems to have a point anymore, because all he can do now is wait until some strangers tell him whether he’ll ever be an artist. He’s been pouring out art for a solid month, drawings, photographs, graphics, and now he feels like a valve has closed and he can’t do anything anymore. He hasn’t touched his camera since the fair. He’s painted over his mural; his bedroom wall is white and dead for the first time in years. 

And Jared just watches him with this look all through English and History and Chemistry and Calc, this hurt, worried, intense stare, because Jensen doesn’t return his phone calls and hasn’t shown up for BSG this week, and catches rides with Danneel and doesn’t eat lunch with him, and vanishes right after class instead of walking to their lockers and dissing teachers and school and shooting the shit about everything, and it’s obvious that Jared’s equally worried and pissed. But when Jensen opens his locker before History on Thursday, he finds ten pages of essay in there, _Lincoln and the Republican Party by Jensen Ackles_ and attached to it a note, saying _Cheer up, Emo Asshole_ with an upside down smiley, and Jensen feels this _thing_ inside of him pulse and smile and break all over again.

*-*

It’s Friday, and date night, meaning Jensen sits at home, staring at his blank wall, depressed and lonely and wallowing in self-pity. He’s got his headphones in, listening to the Killers on full blast, anything to keep from thinking too much. Danneel’s written him seventeen texts already, all reading something like, _Come out tonight, don’t sit home like the loser you are, angsting your girly little heart out._

He deletes every single one. She’s so gonna kick his ass on Monday. But he doesn’t care. All he really wants to do is sleep.

There’s a knock on his door. He ignores it, turns the volume up on his iPod. 

Another knock, so hard he hears it even through the beat of the music. Somebody’s nearly pounding on his door. Somebody who, Jensen guesses, is tiny and twelve and called Mackenzie and shares half of Jensen’s genes, even though she’s neat and perfect and wears her school uniform at home, little robot in the making.

Annoyed, Jensen takes his headphones off and stalks towards the door. He opens it forcefully, ready to tell Mac to fuck the hell off, but instead of 5’1’’ sister, he finds 6’5’’ of Jared, smiling pleasantly at him, holding up Battlestar Galactica, Season 3 DVD box set. He’s leaning in the door so there’s no possible way of getting past him. 

Jared’s smiling at him in that fake Cheshire Cat _gotcha_ way that makes Jensen slightly nervous. “Hi,” Jared says, in this weird, overly chipper way.

“Shouldn’t you be, like, out with Sandy or something?” Jensen asks, aware that he sounds as nervous as he feels, ‘cause this isn’t about BSG, this is about Jensen spilling his guts. “You fight or something?”

Jared’s still smiling at him, like a shark that’s finally cornered its prey. It’s incongruently sexy. “Nah, but it’s not like I gotta spend every Friday with her until doomsday. I told her I had something important to do. We’ve got to catch up, dude, we’ve got a little more than a month to get through 30 episodes, plus Razor.”

“We should’ve watched Razor right after the Pegasus arc where it belongs,” Jensen says, weakly, finally moving away from the door, because there’s just no way to stop Jared when he’s in this kind of mood.

Jared follows him into the room and goes straight for the DVD player. 

“We agreed we were gonna watch it in the originally aired sequence,” Jared says, popping in the DVD. 

Jensen sits down in the swivel chair by his desk and just watches Jared flop down on Jensen’s bed, reaching for the remote, making himself right at home, and Jensen knows he’s not gonna go away no matter what Jensen says. It’s annoying, and at the same time, it’s incredibly reassuring.

“You’re the biggest dork in the history of dorks,” Jensen says, but he knows his voice lacks insult, comes out too soft and too fond. He pushes his chair over next to the bed with his feet and kicks his legs up to rest on the mattress, swiveling his chair to face the TV. He could, of course, just sit next to Jared on the bed as usual, but he’s got the feeling he’s gonna need the distance. 

Jared turns on the TV and grins. “So what else is new?”

He flips through the menu until he finds the episode he was looking for, then he presses ‘Play’.

The show starts, and Jensen’s glad to have something to look at other than Jared’s profile. Hopefully, Jared will forget why he’s really here and they’ll just watch the show in peace.

That hope doesn’t last long. About ten minutes in, Jared asks, casually, without taking his eyes off the screen, “So, you wanna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to tie you to that chair and torture it out of you?”

Jensen swallows. He feels a little like somebody’s reached into his chest and is squeezing his heart with a big, strong hand. He doesn’t want to lie to Jared, but he’d rather be roasted slowly over an open fire than tell the truth. He doesn’t think he could stand Jared knowing, Jared looking at him with pity, Jared acting differently around him. And on the other hand he wants to tell, desperately, wants Jared to reassure him that it’s gonna be okay, even if it isn’t. “Do I have to talk about it?” he asks, low and exasperated.

“Kinda, yeah,” Jared says, finally looking at Jensen, the show forgotten, running in the background like some kind of weird soundtrack.

Jensen looks at Jared, and god he doesn’t want to have this conversation. 

But Jared looks at him, earnestly, frowning, hurt, and says, “Look, you can’t do this, okay? You can’t just…” he makes a vague gesture, “vanish, or something, and not expect me to worry. What is it, are you pissed at me or something?”

Jensen sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He is just so goddamned tired. “No. No, I’m just… I don’t know, it’s hard to… you know, put words to it?”

“Come on, you can tell Danny but not me? Is it Sandy?” Jared asks, “School? CalArt turn you down? What is it?”

“None of the above,” Jensen says, and it’s true, because at this point Sandy’s not even bothering him anymore. He looks down at his hands to escape Jared’s questioning gaze, looking for words that’ll make Jared understand without giving away too much of what’s actually going on, which is that Jensen feels like somebody dropped him from thirty stories and when he hit the ground, he shattered all over the place, and he’s trying to put himself back together and make all the pieces fit. “I guess it’s a bit of a senior slump kind of thing,” he finally says. “I’ve… I don’t know, I’ve sent off my applications, and all we can do now is waiting, and I’ve got too much time to think about everything, and I’ve started questioning a lot of the stuff I’ve always thought I wanted.”

“Like what?” Jared’s voice is quiet, thoughtful, and he’s watching Jensen intently, like everything he says is incredibly important, which is just one of the things Jensen loves about Jared, the way he makes you feel like the only person in the world worth listening to.

“Like, maybe Sandy was right, maybe you should go to UCLA when they offer and not care about whether I get into CalArt?” Jensen says, looking up at Jared hesitantly. 

Jared gives him a small smile. “Now you’re just speaking in tongues, dude. We had a plan, remember?”

_Yeah,_ Jensen thinks, _But I went and fell in love with you and screwed it all to hell, and now I’m not so sure whether I want to spend four years watching you date other people while I pine for you._

Only that’s not the whole truth, either. It’s just he’s modified his fantasy a little. In his new plan, his new ideal future, their small apartment has only one bedroom, and there’s no girlfriend anywhere in the picture, and the oversized UCLA t-shirt Jensen wears to games is Jared’s.

He’s not sure which thought is more painful, the first because it means he’s got to give up Jared entirely, or the second, because it’s just not gonna happen. Ever.

“Things change,” Jensen says, softly, barely able to speak through the painful feeling in his chest. 

Jared looks at him like he wants to see inside Jensen’s head, turn him inside out to make sense of him. “What’s really going on with you?” Then, his expression changes, closes down, like he’s figured it out and doesn’t like it. “Of course. You’re hooking up with Danneel, right?”

Jensen’s startled out of a laugh that’s half relief and half surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would’ve told you _that_.”

Some of the tension goes out of Jared, and he smiles, rather sheepish, shaking his head like he’s caught himself at something. “What is it then?”

Jensen sighs and shrugs heavily. “I just gotta figure a few things out, okay? For myself? And you can’t help me with that.” _Or maybe you could? Teach me how not to be in love with you? No? Thought not._

Jared’s quiet for a long time – for him, at least. Then, finally, he nods. “Okay. But don’t disappear on me again, okay?” 

Jared’s tone is quiet and vulnerable, and he’s giving Jensen the full force of the puppy eyes, all with floppy hair hanging into his face adorable, and Jensen kind of wants to kiss him and kiss him and not stop until they’re both dizzy. And for a second, when their eyes meet and lock, he actually thinks about leaning over, brushing the hair out of Jared’s eyes and pressing their lips together, and for a second, he thinks Jared might let him, might even lean into him, sigh a little, touch his cheek and stop him from moving away.

But fear wins out over temptation, and Jensen remains rooted to the spot, unable to move even one muscle. “Okay,” he says, feebly, and yeah, this is gonna be hard, but Jared’s smile makes it easier, makes it worth it.

“Can we please just watch the show now?” Jensen asks, not caring that his exhaustion’s heavy in his voice.

Jared nods, still smiling at him, warm and sure. “Sure.” He turns his attention back to the screen, and Jensen feels physically released. “I’ll be here when you decide to talk about it.”

Jensen lifts his eyes to the TV screen where Adama and Apollo are having it out, once more, darting a side glance at Jared. “I know,” he says, softly, barely audible. 

He gestures at the screen, tries to find his footing again, find something familiar and safe and okay. “You think Apollo just got fat because he couldn’t bang Starbuck?”

“Dude.” Jared snorts, amused. “Reason enough, if you ask me.” 

They stop talking after that, and just watch, and slowly, Jensen feels more normal again, like this is any other night, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he can do this, save this, that despite everything, they can still be just them, and be fine with that. 

It’s worth a try, at least.

*-*

“Life’s a boring, depressing world of suck,” Jensen says, closing his laptop forcefully. 

“Well, ain’t you little Miss Sunshine today?” Rosey doesn’t even look up from the complicated flow chart thingy he’s poring over for AP World Economics. 

Jensen doesn’t bother replying, he just shoves his laptop and his sketch book back into his messenger bag. He’s been staring at blank paper and blank screen for the solid 20 minutes since the beginning of lunch break, unable to find even an inkling of an idea. When he comes home, his blank wall will mock him. Life sucks.

He’s got nothing to do that’s remotely worth doing, so he busies himself with shoving his food around on his plate with his fork, trying and failing not to watch Jared and Sandy across the courtyard, sitting alone at a small table near the doors to the cafeteria, apparently deep in conversation. Jensen surmises that they’re in the middle of negotiating the terms of going to Sparkling Super-Pretty Princess Winter Wonderland Dance, or something, and Jensen’s trying to act like he doesn’t care. He wishes he had something better to do, like paint, or actually go to the dance himself with an actual date of his own, somebody hot and shiny who actually, like, has any kind of interest in Jensen, _that way_. And it’s not because he wants to test out making Jared jealous. Not at all. And it’s not because he’s horny and frustrated and bored and unhappy. Not at all. 

Which is why when Danneel flops down next to Rosenbaum, the first thing out of Jensen’s mouth is, “You wanna go to this winter ball thingy?”

Silence falls as Danneel and Rosenbaum stare at him as if he’s just taken all his clothes off and shown them his pierced dick painted pink or something. Danneel actually reaches over the table to feel his forehead. 

Jensen shakes his head and bats her hand away. “So, you wanna go?” he asks, again.

Danneel snorts. “No,” she says, and the ‘duh’ is heavily implied in her tone, along with the ‘you moronic lunatic’. 

“Why not?” Jensen demands, not caring that he sounds like a sulky five year old. 

“’Cause it’s lame, it’s boring, it sucks, and I’d, like, have to wear a dress?” She leans over the table and continues, more quietly, “Also, I don’t wanna be the pretend date to your creepily staring at Jared like the stalker you are party.”

Jensen stops staring at Jared long enough to glare at her. She smiles at him sweetly. “You know what you should do? Try and find somebody you actually like, maybe?” she says, reasonably. “I mean, other than…” she trails off, nodding her head in Jared and Sandy’s direction.

“So you’ve finally admitted you’re gay and have a giant boner for Jared?” Rosey asks, most of his attention already back on his flow chart. 

Jensen glares at Danneel even harder. She holds up her hands in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t tell him. You’re just being really, really obvious.”

Jensen snorts. “He doesn’t notice,” he says, with a slightly aggressive head-jerk in Jared’s general direction. And goddamn him, why doesn’t he notice that Jensen’s just about sick with this thing he carries around with him? 

“That’s ‘cause he’s even more stupid than you are, and he thinks you act like a jealous boyfriend because of your super-special, like, deep and true friendship or something, and not for the obvious reason, which is that you actually _are_ his jealous boyfriend,” Rosey says, filling in some numbers on his flow chart. 

“I hate you both,” Jensen says, stabbing his fork into the thing on his plate that’s supposed to be some kind of baked potato. Rosey ignores him and Danneel takes out her battered song-notebook and broods over it, pencil drumming onto the table in a searching for inspiration way that’s very familiar to Jensen.

“I hate our band name,” Danneel pronounces, loudly enough to be audible to Jared, who’s just making his way over to them after having said a quick goodbye to Sandy - which Jensen didn’t watch every small movement of.

“You owe me five bucks,” Jared announces to Jensen over Danneel’s head, coming up behind her. He drops down the bench next to Jensen, puts his feet up and kind of leans his whole body against Jensen, a casual, exhausted gesture Jensen resents and relishes at the same time. “’s what you get for betting they’d keep the name for longer than a month,” he adds around a huge yawn. “Man, I’m so tired, I’m gonna fall asleep in class this afternoon.”

Jensen smiles, hating himself a little bit for the Jared-induced little surge of warmth inside of him that instantly dispels his general discontent. “I’ll take pictures.”

“Thanks, asshole,” Jared says, but Jensen can tell he’s smiling. 

“How did it go?” Jensen asks, gesturing at where Sandy just left.

Jared sighs. “Exhausting. I don’t get why this dance thing’s supposed to be important. We go, we don’t dance, it’ll be boring a shit.”

“How’s things generally with you and Sandy?” Jensen asks, trying for casual, ignoring Danneel’s raised eyebrow.

Jared shifts a little bit against Jensen, getting more comfortable. “Okay, you know. Fine. Not looking to get married or anything,” he mutters, closing his eyes, and Jensen feels his lips stretch into a smile. 

Danneel gives a little snort and Jensen doesn’t meet her eyes, because he’s sure she’s giving him one of her ‘don’t get your hopes up’ looks, and he knows he’s setting himself up to be disappointed again and again, but he can’t help it, he oh so casually brings his arm up and around so it rests over Jared’s chest, and he can’t help it, but he enjoys the way Jared doesn’t flinch or frown, just tilts his head to the side a little so it rests in the crook of Jensen’s shoulder. And he can’t help but feel at once completely validated in a _see, he loves me, he loves me_ kind of way, and completely fucked, because one of these days Jared’s gonna break his heart for good, like a puppy in a china shop, wagging his tail and inflicting damage without even noticing.

And Jensen’s beginning to suspect there isn’t a thing he can do to stop it.

*-*

It’s Friday, and winter dance day, and Jensen’s sitting alone in his room, staring at his whitewashed wall like the loser he is.

He’s pushed his bed to one side and covered the floor with canvas, and now he’s sitting cross-legged between cans of paint, staring at the wall, waiting for inspiration. He’ll give it another half an hour, then he’ll just Pollock out and start randomly opening cans and splashing paint onto the wall.

There’s a knock on his door. 

“Yeah?” he says, not taking his eyes off the wall.

His mom opens the door a crack and sticks her head in. “Dinner, honey.”

“I’m not hungry, Mom,” Jensen says, still staring at the empty white square. 

His mom sighs, one of these long-suffering what-am-I-gonna-do-with-you ones. “You know, honey, just because Jared’s got a date to the dance and you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t go if you really want to.”

“I don’t want to go, I’m just sick of having a blank wall in my room,” Jensen says, slightly irritable and barely containing himself from snapping at his mom, who, in the great scheme of things, really isn’t to blame for anything that’s bugging him. 

“Okay,” she says, sounding resigned. “Whatever you say, dear.” She hesitates in the door, and Jensen takes his eyes off the wall and looks at her questioningly.

She sighs, pushing her hair back from her face. Jensen feels a sudden surge of compassion for her. She’s never really known how to deal with his problems. His brother Josh and his sister are straightforward, healthy, happy children, engaged in school affairs and active, good at sports and popular, and her middle kid is a punky, broody artist with an attitude problem who sneers at everything she regards as normal and fun. He smiles at her. “I’m all right, mom. Really.”

She returns his smile, but the worry doesn’t fade from her face. “It’s just… you don’t have to be miserable to be an artist. You’re allowed to be happy, Jensen. You know that, right?”

Jensen’s smile takes on a slightly ironic edge. “I know. But thanks, mom. It’s nice to hear, occasionally.”

Impulsively, he gets up and hugs her, and she ruffles through his hair and says, “I’ll put a plate into the oven for you, honey.”

“Thanks,” he says, and she leaves him alone with his white wall again.

There’s another knock on his door. 

“What?” he asks, and this time it isn’t his mom sticking her head in, it’s Jared.

Jared raises his eyebrows at the wall, and then at the paints, and points behind him, wordlessly asking whether he should just split again, but Jensen waves him in, barely suppressing a wolf-whistle when he sees what Jared’s wearing. He’s obviously borrowed a suit from his brother Jeff for the occasion, and even though it doesn’t fit perfectly, it’s surprising how tall Jared looks, how broad, how grown up. His collar’s undone, his tie’s hanging loosely around his neck, and his open sleeves are sticking out from under the suit jacket, but it only adds to the overall drop dead sexy effect. 

“What is it, big guy?” Jensen asks, mentally repeating his words to himself. _Big guy? What the fuck, Ackles? What the fuck?_

“Why am I going to this thing again?” Jared asks, sitting down next to Jensen on the floor, not minding the open canister of red paint near his pants leg. 

“Hell if I know.” Jensen’s pointing at the empty wall. “Wanna stay and help me disfigure my bedroom wall?”

Jared huffs a laugh. “Dude, you know the atrocities I commit with a brush. Besides, Sandy would kill me if I stood her up. I mean, literally kill me, probably shiv me in the hallway between English and Calc.”

“Hiding the knife she whittled from a ruler in her bra, no doubt,” Jensen supplies, and Jared grins.

“Why’re you here again?” Jensen asks, trying not to get lost in Jared’s fond grin.

“No idea,” Jared says without missing a beat, still smiling. “Bored? Hoping you’ll entertain me?”

“With what, the riveting details about how my mom’s worried I’m gonna slit my wrists or something because I’m skipping dinner?” Jensen asks, leaning back on his elbows. 

“Something like that. Actually, I was wondering whether I could borrow your PSP, you know, in case I get really, desperately bored, since neither you or Danneel or Rosey are gonna be there, I’m pretty much out of people to talk to save Sandy, and, well, all her friends are robots, and she kinds reverts when she’s with them.” Jared’s not looking at Jensen through that entire speech; he’s gazing at the white wall. “You know I haven’t seen that wall white in at least three years,” he adds, contemplative. 

“I know. Bugs the shit out of me.” Jensen nods in the direction of his entertainment unit. “You know where everything is. Serve yourself, dude.”

Jared gets up from the floor with a groan and starts rummaging in the drawers of Jensen’s entertainment unit. “You could always just, you know, paint it block colors until you figure something out.”

“Lame,” Jensen mutters, distracted from the conversation by the way Jared’s pants stretch over his ass. 

“Whatever,” Jared shoots back, finally emerging with a triumphant sound, clutching Jensen’s PSP. 

He pockets it, then just kind of stands there, as if uncertain what to do with himself. The he looks down at Jensen, almost accusing. “Why aren’t you coming?”

“’cause I’m not into playing third wheel,” Jensen points out, somewhat reasonably. 

“Good point.” Jared huffs a laugh, looking down at Jensen. He sighs. “I better go.”

He moves towards the door, but Jensen takes one look at his defeated puppy posture and his sloppy clothes and says, “Wait,” without thinking about it, getting up from the floor.

Jared turns around to face him, and Jensen steps up to him, shaking his head, fondly amused. “You can’t go like this. Look at yourself.”

He takes one of Jared’s wrists and closes the buttons of his shirt, straightening his cuff. Jared’s smiling at him, wryly amused, and holds out his other wrist. Jensen takes it, fingers skimming over Jared’s skin, the soft warmth of the inside of his wrist, sharpness of the bone sticking out. “You’re too skinny,” he mutters, more quietly than entirely warranted, but something’s happened to his voice, his breath, his heartbeat. He buttons Jared’s cuff and straightens it, but he can’t let go, his fingers tangle in the material of Jared’s shirt. Jared’s watching him intently, small smile playing on his lips, but the expression in his eyes is questioning, searching.

Jensen’s aware he should let go of Jared’s shirtsleeve, but instead his fingers tighten, while his other hand moves to straighten Jared’s collar, brushing the warm skin of his neck, and Jared shudders ever so lightly, a movement Jensen might not have noticed if he wasn’t touching Jared, standing so close to him. 

“I should go,” Jared says. Jensen can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily. He makes a small move towards the door, but Jensen holds on to him, pulls him back by his sleeve and his tie, and then Jensen throws his fate into the winds, reels Jared in and kisses him.

For a staggering second, it’s perfect. Jared’s lips on his are hot and chapped and a little wet. He makes a tiny, surprised humming sound against Jensen’s mouth, and it feels amazing. He smells really, really good. Jensen’s heart is hammering so hard he thinks it’ll burst. His palms are sweaty.

They move back pretty much simultaneously. Jensen’s breathing’s all wrong, and he can’t stop staring at Jared’s lips. Jared looks like he’s been hit by a bus. Jensen finally lets go of Jared’s sleeve.

They stare at each other as if they’ve never seen each other before, and yet, Jensen knows it’s only a matter of shifting the kaleidoscope until the colors rearrange themselves in meaningful patterns.  
Silence falls heavy between them while they just stand there and look at each other. Jensen feels like somebody reached into his chest and lit him all up from the inside, light-headed with relief and a free-falling sensation that feels a little big like vertigo.

It’s surprisingly Jared who speaks first. He points vaguely at the door, apparently not really knowing what to do with his limbs. “I should…the dance. Sandy. I should go?”

Jensen wets his lips. He nods vaguely. He can’t even bring himself to care about Sandy or the dance or anything else right now. He did it. He put it out there, and Jared didn’t flinch or move away or even ask him what the fuck, and the sheer relief of it is staggering. He’s been carrying this around with him for a long time, and now that he’s put it out there, he feels numb, and kind of empty, but good, too, because whatever happens now, at least he had the guts to play for the jackpot. Whatever happens now, at least he got his kiss. 

Jared hesitates. He reaches out and brushes a hand against Jensen’s hip, a vague, uncoordinated gesture that makes Jensen smile. “I’ll talk to you later?”

Jensen nods. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

Jared returns the nod, then turns around and practically flees the room, still looking as if he’s run full-speed into a wall. 

Jensen sits down on the floor heavily. He stares at the blank wall for a long time, waits for the inner glow he feels to fade. It doesn’t. His hands are shaking, adrenaline and nerves. He has no idea what’s going to happen now. He feels like every nerve in his body is firing blanks. He might never sleep again. 

Finally, he picks up the brush and starts to paint.

*-*

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. He painted the wall midnight blue, and now he’s got his acrylic paints out, more precisely this stunning orange yellow.

He starts at the center, one big, fat, intense splash of paint, and then he paints outward, broad, bold strokes, like an explosion, rings of fire. The Johnny Cash reference makes him smirk to himself. 

It feels good to paint again. Freeing. Cleansing. It calms him down, gives him something to do with his hands, something other to think about than Jared and what’s going to happen now and whether there will be some more kissing. 

The yellow paint splatters over Jensen’s clothes and his face as he applies it to the wall energetically. He puts a lot of power behind the strokes, really tries to convey a sense of movement, of great forces exploding outward, turning the world upside down, leaving no molecule they brush unchanged. 

He works intently, entirely focused, so it takes a while for him to notice that somebody’s knocking on his door.

“Yeah?” he asks, not turning around, heart hammering in his chest.

It’s Jared, of course. He walks in, and Jensen can’t really look at him, keeps staring at the wall, because his hands are shaking and he’s pretty sure Jared could tell.

Jared just sits down on the bed unasked, like he’s at home, which he is, of course. Jensen’s eyes flick to him briefly. He’s taken off his jacket, sleeves rolled up over his elbows. He looks good. A little shaken. Not any more sure of himself than Jensen feels.

“So I’m gay,” Jensen says, addressing himself to the wall. It’s a really stupid thing to say, but it’s the only thing he can think about, plus, he _feels_ really stupid, tongue-tied and clumsy and uncertain.

“Kinda figured that one out on my own,” Jared answers, his voice a low, amused rumble. 

There’s no possible response to this that doesn’t involve Jensen flinging himself at Jared and licking at his lips until he goes crazy with it, which Jensen would do, but he can’t tell whether Jared wants that, so Jensen doesn’t say anything. He thinks he’s earned some well-placed silences. Ball’s in Jared’s court, anyway. 

Jared’s not really looking at him, though; he’s looking at the mural that’s slowly taking shape behind Jensen. “Sandy and I broke up,” he says, oddly incongruently, almost absently.

Jensen looks away from Jared, follows his eyes to the mural. “I’m sorry,” he says, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice, keep his fingers from dropping the paintbrush he’s still holding, because the flare of _hope/want/fear_ inside of him is so intense it’s almost painful.

“No you’re not,” Jared mutters, again in that too-low, amused tone. He gets up, and Jensen can hear him come up behind Jensen, steps muffled by the carpet and the paint-smudged canvas on the floor.

“I’m sorry if you’re sorry,” Jensen addresses the wall, his brilliant star explosion that mirrors the expanding heat within his chest and belly.

“I’m not sorry.” Jared’s standing so close behind him Jensen can feel his breath on Jensen’s neck. His voice is so low Jensen wouldn’t be able to hear him if Jared wasn’t practically breathing the words into his neck. “I took her to the dance, ‘cause I promised I’d do it, but when we got there, she just told me to go be where I’d obviously rather be, so I did.”

Jensen feels Jared’s arm brush him when he reaches around Jensen to touch the still wet paint on the wall. “You know, she’s nice and all, but I never… it was never…like…” 

Jensen doesn’t even want or need to hear any more. He turns around in a rush, grabbing Jared’s shirt, dropping his paintbrush onto the floor.

“Shut up,” Jensen murmurs, pulling at Jared’s shirt the same time as Jared moves in, and then they’re kissing, really kissing, and everything goes fuzzy.

Jared’s lips are dry and warm, then slick and hot as Jensen licks over them, pries them apart with his tongue, delving in to taste, and the heat of it sends shivers down his spine. Jared’s making some kind of gasping sound in the back of his throat, his fingers tightening in Jensen’s paint-splattered sweater. Jensen’s thoughts go round and round, _smells good, feels good, more, now, hot, want_. And then Jared really just grabs onto him and starts kissing him back, and he feels it in his entire body, down to his toes, the heat of Jared’s tongue curling around his, the way Jared’s hand fists in his hair, the little moaning sound Jared makes when Jensen bites at his lips, hungry. He feels hot all over, and breathless, and as if all the nervous energy is re-wiring itself directly into his dick, because god, Jared’s _kissing_ him, Jared _wants_ him, and it’s the best feeling ever.

Jensen runs greedy hands down Jared’s back, hooks his fingers in the waistband of Jared’s slacks, thumbs caressing soft skin, and the shudder that goes through Jared at the touch turns Jensen on more than the dirtiest fantasy he’s ever had. He pulls Jared closer until they’re snug against each other, until he can get a thigh between Jared’s legs, feel Jared’s erection rub against him, feel Jared’s leg against his own hard cock. He has to see Jared’s eyes, has to know this is okay, this is fine, they’re not blowing themselves apart in any way that can’t be reassembled. He moves back when Jared tries to kiss him, meets his eyes. Jared’s face is flushed, his hair’s sticking out in all directions. His eyes are dark with arousal, and he smiles at Jensen as if he knows something Jensen doesn’t. Then he pulls Jensen back and kisses him, softly, slowly, taking his time to kiss Jensen’s mouth open, slide his tongue over every inch of Jensen’s lips, his teeth, his tongue. Jensen goes crazy with _want more_ , and Jensen fists his hand in Jared’s hair like he fantasized about, stops thinking and gets with the program, pushing Jared down to the floor.

They don’t go gracefully, mainly because they can’t really stop touching, or kissing. Jared’s pawing at his ass, and biting at his neck, and Jensen’s going slowly crazy with heat. He needs some friction, and he needs it now. He pulls at Jared, his shirt, his hips, presses in until he finds the perfect angle to rub their erections together. Jared grabs his ass, holds him there, and thrusts his hips into Jensen’s. It’s sloppy and frantic and uncomfortable, it’s hot and intense and amazing, and it feels so good it makes Jensen cross-eyed. Pleasure’s coursing through him like he’s electrically charged, and he holds onto Jared while they thrust and rub into each other, grabbing any part of him he can reach. He feels heat intensify, his entire body stretched and humming and full to the brim with pleasure, and then Jared runs his fingers over the inseam of Jensen’s jeans near his asscrack, and Jensen comes in shivering waves of pleasure. It takes monstrous effort, but he doesn’t stop moving his hips, but tilts his head back a little so he can see Jared shudder against him and come with this little broken, amazed moan, and the look in his eyes, and the wetness Jensen feels against his thigh, is hot enough to burn him. 

He pushes Jared, who’s gone all limp and pliant, onto his back, and just looks at him for a moment. His hair’s all over the place, cowlicked and ridiculous, and his clothes are half-on, half-off, there’s a red mark on his hip where Jensen’s fingers dug in. He’s incredibly, amazingly gorgeous. He smiles up at Jensen and pushes a finger against Jensen’s nose. 

“There’s paint on your nose,” Jared mutters, and Jensen just has to kiss that smirk off his lips, just has to. It’s a compulsion, really. 

*-*

It’s much later. It’s after they’ve picked each other up from the floor, after figuring out how to stop kissing for two seconds, after losing most of their clothes and finding out things are way more fun without them, after moving to the bed and making a wreck and a mess out of Jensen’s sheets.

Jared’s asleep. His head’s resting somewhere near Jensen’s shoulder. He’s only wearing boxers, and Jensen’s blanket is half covering him, half under him. He’s drooling on Jensen’s pillow. Jensen can’t stop looking at him, though he wonders how Jared can sleep, when Jensen feels like every inch of his skin has been connected to an electric wire, and he’s glowing and vibrating from inside out. 

Jared snorts in his sleep, as if to remind Jensen that Jared can sleep anywhere at any time. He moves his arm in his sleep, pushing against Jensen’s hip. It’s ridiculous and adorable, and it makes Jensen grin like an idiot.

He turns away from Jared before his face breaks from smiling, and his eyes fall on the wall. He’s only half done. 

Without really thinking about it, he gets up, pulling on his t-shirt. He ignores the dried paintbrush on the floor, and picks up another brush and a brilliant red and sun yellow.

Jared’s fast asleep, occasionally muttering, or snoring, and Jensen, he does what he does when he’s happy. He paints.

*-*

The sun’s rising brilliant red when Jared wakes up. He smiles at Jensen, sleepy and content. 

“It’s amazing,” Jared mutters, pointing at the mural, red and gold and fire on a dark sky. 

Jensen smiles, doesn’t say, _So are you,_ instead, he says, “It’s a Supernova.”

Jared smirks, this sexy, intensely private, intensely familiar little smile. “Good to know you haven’t got any self-esteem issues.”

Without even thinking about it, Jensen reaches for the Nikon under his bed and takes a picture of Jared in all his half-naked, sun streamed, morning hair, soft-eyed, sexy smiling glory. 

Jared smiles indulgently, like he always does. “Another one for the scrapbooks,” he says.

Jensen shakes his head. “Nah. That one’s for me.”

*-*

_Epilogue_

It’s surprising how little changes, really, when you come down to it.

They eat and sleep and go to school, they have lunch with Rosey and Danneel, they drive to school and back, they have homework and practice and the school paper. It’s like there never was a Sandy. 

Well, almost.

They miss most of Season 3 and all of Season 4.0 of BSG because they “watch” with Jensen glued to Jared’s lap trying to spell his name on the roof of Jared’s mouth with his tongue. Jensen gets a C- in Calc on both his and Jared’s homework because he switched several equations around on account of Jared trying to unbutton his shirt and mouthing at his neck while he scrawled the last assignment.

Nobody’s surprised. Not at school, not their parents, least of all Rosey and Danneel. It’s like everybody already knew, like the two of them were the last to learn a language everybody else has understood for years.

But they understand now, and they’re putting in their best effort to catch up to the rest of the class. Practice does make perfect, after all.

*-*

Jensen’s on his laptop answering emails when Jared bounces in. He lifts the laptop from Jensen’s lap without preamble and plants himself in its stead. Not that Jensen minds the switch, but, “I was reading that,” he says, mildly annoyed.

Jared grins. “Read it later. I ran into your mom on my way up. This just came for you.”

It’s a big, thick envelope with a California postmark and a familiar logo reading CalArt.

Jensen stares at it, and at Jared, who, he now notices, is wearing a UCLA t-shirt and a huge grin.

“It’s the big envelope,” Jared says, like Jensen’s slow or something.

Jensen takes it from Jared as if it’s a bomb that could explode any second.

Jared’s holding up a newspaper that on closer inspection turns out to be the LA Times. “I’ve already circled a few apartments we can check out when we go to LA.”

Jensen grabs the newspaper Jared’s wagging in front of his face out of his hands to stop him from putting an eye out. He briefly glances at the circled apartments.

They’re all one bedrooms.

*-*

It’s a Wednesday, and it’s pissing rain, so they’re having lunch in the overcrowded, hot cafeteria. 

Jensen’s leaning against Jared, half asleep from the warmth of the heaters and the low-level hum of students minding their own business.

He gets woken rudely from his doze when Danneel and Rosey drop onto the bench opposite the one Jared and Jensen share. Danneel kicks the bench directly under his ass. “Wakey, wakey, loverboy.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen mutters, nudging closer to Jared, who’s got one arm draped around Jensen’s waist. 

“We got a new band name,” Rosey says, grinning.

Jensen yawns. “Steve owes me 20 bucks. He bet me ‘The Night Owls’ would tide you over to 2009.”

“You wanna know what it is?” Danneel asks. She’s smirking like she’s done something especially clever and wants to gloat.

“We’re quivering with expectation,” Jared says dryly, then he takes a deliberately nonchalant sip of his coke.

“How do you think this sounds?” Danneel asks over Mike faking a drum roll, banging his fingers against the table, “Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fag Hags.”

Jared spews out his coke, and then he’s half coughing, half laughing, and Jensen lands on the bench, hard, when he moves, plus he gets sprayed with coke, which makes Danneel and Mike laugh so hard they draw dirty looks from the teacher table.

“Seriously?” Jensen asks, wiping coke off his face.

Jared grins. “I like it.” He smiles at Jensen. “You know, I’ve got a feeling this name’s gonna stick for good.”

Jensen smiles back. “Yeah, you know what? I think it will.”

 

The end


End file.
